


A Little More 16 Candles AU

by reading_is_in



Category: Bandom, Decaydance, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Little Less Sixteen Candles (Music Video), Decaydance - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 16:37:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13485516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reading_is_in/pseuds/reading_is_in
Summary: A 16 Candles prologue/explanation verse featuring the characters and storyline from the video.Its the summer of 2001 (sorry). Humans and vampires have lived in relative peace for decades, in accordance with a treaty. But in Chicago, a series of audacious attacks on humans means that vampire gangs are gaining strength and are moving in on the city. Meanwhile, three boys are on a mission to be the next big thing in pop punk. But now the attacks become personal, and their mission changes: Pete, Joe and Patrick are the 16 Candles Vampire Containment and Dispatchment Agency, their first task to rescue a young boy named Brendon Urie whose face is all over the news. What will happen when the rescue goes badly wrong, and Pete is bitten? Joe seeks out legendary vampire hunter Andy Hurley for help.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Has 65% of this fandom made one of these?
> 
> Yes.
> 
> Are most of them better than mine? 
> 
> Probably.
> 
> Is that gonna stop me from posting this?
> 
> E v i d e n t l y n o t
> 
> Let's be real if you clicked on the title you know what this is.

Prologue.

 

Joe looked down again at the scribbled note in his hand. The Priest's directions hadn't been the clearest, and the reception on everyone's cell phones was unreliable now. This had to be the place, though - there were no other houses around for a good mile in either direction, and if the surrounding land looked a little less 'farm' and a little more 'barren wasteland', he supposed the sole inhabitant had better things to do these days than play Little House on the Prairie. In any case, Joe's bike was three quarters out of gas, and he wasn't getting any further from Chicago before turning around on that amount.

He parked the bike and went up to the porch. It was solid wood, sturdy but in need of a paint job. A 2-seater truck was parked at the side of the property. Like the rest of the place, it looked old, but well kept, mud guards holding back the mess the dirt track must turn into when it rained out here. Keeping one hand near but not touching the pistol at his belt, Joe found a buzzer and pressed it. Nothing happened, so he knocked instead.

"Hello?" he called. "My name is Joe Trohman. I got this address from the Priest. I'm looking for-"

"Drop the gun."

Joe jumped at the disembodied voice from above his head. He looked around, and located a small fish eye camera in the top right corner of the doorframe. He couldn't see the speakers, but they sounded close. "Okay," he said. He also had a smaller pistol in a concealed holster, and as a last resort, a thin silver knife strapped to his left calf. A slit at the knee of his jeans meant he could draw it smoothly from crouching. Joe hadn't gotten his start in this business yesterday. If the Priest's information was all wrong, and there were more than two vampires behind that door, well, Joe was probably screwed, but realistically - nowadays they all took that risk just stepping out of the door. Slowly and with exaggerated movements, Joe took the gun from his belt holster and laid it down on the planks. "Done."

There was a pause, then a clicking sound from the lock. Joe tried the handle and found that the wooden door opened outwards to reveal a second door, solid metal inlaid with silver. "Put your hand on the metal," said the voice. Joe obliged, then stood back and held his unburned hands up to the camera.

"See? 100% human."

There were a few more clicks, heavier sounding, and what sounded like a series of bolts sliding. Finally the metal door unhinged and swung inwards. The house was dim so Joe stepped inside - - something cut into his ankle, he pitched forwards and heard a sharp crack, milliseconds before pain slammed through his skull. His teeth rattled and his vision blurred, as he realized he'd smacked his head on a concrete floor. Squinting up at the pale blur above him, he couldn't help but appreciate that the wood porch effect was a nice ruse. Very rustic.

"I see you met my tripwire," said the blur, in the same voice as the disembodied camera.

"Dude," Joe groaned, reaching up to feel at the bump on his head. "Couldn't you have warned me?"

"Why would I do that?" said the blur. "Kind of defeats the point of a tripwire, don't you think?"

Joe attempted to glare at the blur, while surreptitiously waiting for his eyes to adjust. "Are you Andy Hurley?" he demanded. 

"Yes," said the blur simply. It resolved at last, into a guy - huh, a guy who was not what Joe was expecting. He was holding - but not aiming - a fairly serious semi-automatic that looked more than capable of ending anything human or vampiric, but he was _young_ , older than Joe but young nevertheless. He looked sort of like a very cool college professor, serious-faced with square glasses sat on the end of his nose, though his hair was longish and his lower lip pierced. He was heavily tattooed, and his t-shirt:

"Hey dude, you like Anthrax, that's awesome!" Joe exclaimed. Hurley didn't answer, but Joe could've sworn his expression got fractionally lighter. He sounded faintly amused when he told Joe:

"You can get up, you know."

"Okay. I'm Joe Trohman-" Joe scrambled up.

"-And let me guess. You want to know how to kill vampires. Sorry kid, this isn't Jedi school." "

No, no," Joe waved his hands. "Dude. I _know_ how to kill vampires. I'm a hunter."

"Oh? So what do you want?" Hurley arched an eyebrow.

"I want to know..." Joe took a deep breath. "I want to know how to cure them."

 

 

 

 

**** Coming soon: Chapter One, Four Months Earlier.


	2. Four Months Earlier.

“No but, I’m telling you man, this kid is some kind of prodigy. Me and Chris were just talking about how the vervain thing turned out to be bullshit, and he just leans over and goes IT’S NOT BULLSHIT I KNOW HOW TO MAKE IT WORK and he did! I mean, we think he did. It’s not like there’s a ton of vampires around to test it on. But Chris looked it up and it seems like he really knows what he’s talking about.” Joe did a sort of unconscious dance with the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. His hands were currently occupied with the construction of a truly ingenious sandwich. (Anything over three slices of bread warranted the term construction, as far as Joe was concerned). He arranged some pastrami artfully, pausing to lick peanut butter off his fingers. “But I haven’t told you the best part yet.”

“What’s the best part?” Pete sounded distracted. It wasn’t very fair, seeing as the 16 Candles Vampire Containment and Dispatchment Agency had been both their idea (Pete swore on his three quarters of a college education that the word was Dispatchment). So far it seemed as though Joe had been doing most of the research, and keeping up with the news reports of the vampire sightings infiltrating the cities. Creature-on-human violence was rare in Illinois, having some of the oldest territory laws in the States – but a weird spate of unexplained violent deaths and alleged sightings of vampires within human territory had recently made the national news from across the Midwest region. It certainly made for an interesting summer, what with the plans for protecting the streets and of course – their other project:

“The best part is, he’s a hardcore kid and he plays drums and guitar!”

There was a pause at the other end of the phone, and then something that sounded suspiciously like keys clicking.

“Pete are you on MSN?” Joe snapped.

A laptop closed.

“No,” said Pete.

“Pete,” Joe sighed. In his agitation, he pressed the final layer of bread on too firmly, thus crushing the all potato chips rather than merely crunching them. Goddamn it. “I thought you broke up with Amanda again, what with your being misaligned by the cosmos and everything, and also you were cheating on each other.”

“Yeah but,” Pete said heavily. “Realistically Joe, how often do you think I meet a girl who just – __gets__ me that way?”

“Twice a week?” Joe said sarcastically. When Pete was in this sort of mood you could rip on him and he wouldn’t even notice. “Dude! I might seriously have found a drummer for the band __and__ a new guy for the Agency. At this rate, we won’t have to be in a band and hunt vampires – we could be a punk band that hunts! How awesome would that be?”

“That does sound pretty badass,” Pete admitted. They talked about the band for a bit while Joe ate his sandwich, and decided that Joe should bring the kid over to meet Pete on Saturday.

“Oh but wait, what’s his name?” Pete said.

“His name is Patrick Stumph,” said Joe with a little trepidation. There was a pause.

Pete started snickering.

“Pete! You – don’t be an asshole about this, okay? Nobody’s gonna wanna do stuff with us if you’re an asshole all the time.”

“Okay okay. I promise. I will control myself. Hell of a name though, you’ve got to admit.”

“Whatever, PLKW the Third. Okay we’ll see you at like six. Will your parents let us use the basement for practice?”

“They won’t even be here, we can use the whole house.”

“Okay. Awesome. And Pete.”

“What?”

“Break up with Amanda.” Joe hung up and dusted the crumbs off his hands, before heading back to the kitchen to make another sandwich. Either he was finally getting that growth spurt now he was seventeen, or revolutionising the future made him hungry.

 

*

 

The thing about being friends with Pete Wentz - possibly best friends, Joe liked to think, and there wasn’t really anybody else who could lay claim to that title, except for maybe Chris when those two were speaking - the thing about being friends with Pete Wentz was that Pete was kind of a dick. When Joe played with Arma Angelus, Pete used to pull his pants down onstage and give him a wedgie just because he thought it was hilarious, even after Joe told him to seriously stop. But that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? Because of Pete, Joe had played with Arma Angelus. There was nobody else in the world who could do that for him, or even begin to understand what it meant.

So Joe was always a little worried when he had to introduce Pete to someone new. Especially someone Joe would actually like to hang out with again and indeed to accomplish things in the future. To make matters worse, when he picked Patrick Stumph up, the kid was dressed like a cross between someone’s embarrassing great uncle and a fourth grader. He was carrying both a guitar case and a backpack, and a baseball cap was pulled low over his eyes.

“Nice car,” he said.

“Thanks,” said Joe. It wasn’t - but it did have a nice CD player, which Patrick immediately started messing with. “You have your license yet?”

“No, but I’m working on it,” Patrick said. “I’ve been busy this summer.”

“Yeah? With what?” Joe turned on to Glenview Road and immediately got stuck in traffic.

“Research,” said Patrick darkly, and slid him a flat look from under his cap. Joe couldn’t help but grin. This kid was seriously awesome.

When they pulled up in Wilmette, Patrick looked slightly intimidated by the size of the houses.

“Pete Wentz lives here?” he asked.

“Yep,” said Joe. He took the key out of the ignition and they walked up to the porch. Patrick seemed to settle an internal debate with himself, shrugged, then leaned hard on the doorbell. Pete flung the door open almost immediately.

“Alright, I’m - DUUUDE, WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?”

“PETE!” Joe yelled, as Patrick turned bright red and announced,

“I’m out,” before turning round and starting back down the porch steps. Joe grabbed his arm:

“Don’t listen to him.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Pete was practically crying with laughter. “I’ll stop. You’re awesome. You must be Patrick. I’m Pete.”

“You’re a dick,” Patrick said.

“Yes, yes I am. You should be friends with me and stop me saying such dickish things all the time. Come in.”

Patrick looked at Joe, who nodded encouragingly, and they went into the living room.

“Want a beer?” Pete asked.

“I’m seventeen,” Patrick said. “Also straightedge.”

“Oh that’s cool! Me too! Straightedge that is. I try to be. Not seventeen. I’m twenty-one, I’m just creepy like that. Joe is seventeen.”

“But not straightedge,” Joe reminded him. “Also a delinquent.”

“You know where the kitchen is, Trohman.”

Joe paused to consider whether he was pleased or insulted, then went into the kitchen to bring back two cokes and a beer. By the time he got back, Pete and Patrick appeared to be deep in conversation, both about the new band and their plans for the Agency.

“So what should we do first?” Pete asked brightly, looking at the guitar case. “Are you gonna play for us?”

“I thought we were looking for a drummer,” said Joe.

“Don’t worry about that. I know tons of drummers,” said Pete, which wasn’t at all what he’d said the last time they’d had this conversation. Patrick tuned his guitar, took a few deep breaths. Seven minutes later, Joe was quietly stunned, and Pete was standing on a chair making the _Home Alone_ scream with his hands on the sides of his face.

“THAT WAS SO GOOD!” he yelled. “PATRICK!” He jumped down, and attempted to hug Patrick.

“Dude get off,” Patrick shoved at him. Joe couldn’t help but think he looked a tiny bit pleased though.

“You have to sing,” Pete told him. “You’re the frontman, okay?”

“I don’t think I’m really a frontman personality.” Patrick was blushing, and tugged the cap down a bit further over his face.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, talking and shit. Onstage. I don’t really do that. I don't have the like - stage presence."

“Oh that’s fine. I talk enough for all of us,” Pete handwaved. “And I have tons of stage presence.”

“I know, I’ve seen your shows,” Patrick said. Pete beamed. There was nothing he liked better than a compliment.

“Okay what, we have two guitarists now?” Joe said.  “I suppose that means Pete is gonna play bass? Cos I’ve never seen a band where the bassist is like the frontman.”

“Me neither, but that will just make us more unique,” Pete said. “I bet you’ve never seen a band that hunts vampires before either.”

“I have not,” Joe admitted, his slight bad temper evaporating in the face of Pete’s genuine excitement.

“We should make a toast,” Pete said, raising his can of coke like it was champagne. “To cleaning up the Chicago scene…and cleaning up the streets.”

They all clinked their cans in some mumbled imitation of that. All in all, summer was looking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback appreciated! I have the major plot for this story in my head but side stuff is definitely open to suggestion.


	3. Chapter 3

“Look, I don’t know what you’ve heard about me,” Andy Hurley said. “But what you’re asking is insane.”

Joe was leaning on the supported planks that served as some kind of table. The inside of Hurley’s house was utilitarian - mostly wood and brick, with several lethal-looking weapons secured to the walls and a lot of runes, some of which Joe recognized from Patrick’ books carved into the doors and awnings. The only touch of personality or indulgence were a handful of posters for punk and metal bands - and a couple for horror movies, funnily.

“You don’t _cure_ vampires,” Hurley went on. “Believe me, I’ve tried. They’re not sick, they’re monsters.”

“What if -“ Joe said, and cut himself off. It was a long shot. Now that he was actually inside, he was nervous, his heart was beating hard with both the possibility that this could work and that it couldn’t . Everything else had come to a dead end.  Bad choice of phrasing. “What if the vampire was someone you know?”

“Well, was would be the operative. I’m sorry if you lost someone. But. This is why we have to stop them. Believe me, I don’t enjoy it. People don’t _stay themselves_ when they get turned by vampires. They’re enthralled.”

“What if someone wasn’t? Like, not totally? How do you know they don’t - _stay themselves?”_ Joe swallowed.

Hurley glared at him. “Look kid. I don’t have time to argue about philosophy. Either get to the point or get out of here.”

Well, wasn’t that friendly. Joe decided to bite the bullet and blurted:

“Do you remember a guy called Pete Wentz?”

Hurley stared at Joe for a long moment. Then he sat down at the plank-thing opposite Joe.

“I’m guessing that’s a yes?” Joe ventured.

“Of course I remember him,” Hurley said. “We were in college together. Are you telling me he’s dead? He got turned? Who took him?”

“Yes and no,” Joe winced. “Or perhaps I should say no and yes. He got turned. But nobody _took_ him, he’s still _Pete,_ he’s still, uh, with us.”

The stone wall cracked hard against Joe’s back as Hurley pinned him with an arm against his throat. Joe blinked and groaned. Jesus. It was no wonder this guy had a reputation. Joe hadn’t even seen him move.

“You expect me to believe a vampire turned him and just _let him go?_ Who are you working for?” Who sent you here?”

“What?! No-one! Dude, let me go! I told you already, the Priest sent me here and I’m telling the truth! I’ve never seen anything like it either! But it's happened.”

Hurley stared hard at Joe with his steel-grey eyes. Joe tried to look non-threatening. It wasn’t particularly hard, what with being immobilized by a ninja with anger control issues/legendary vampire expert. “You said you were some kind of hunter,” Hurley said.

“Yeah,” said Joe. “I mean. Not a great one. We’d only been in it a month when the takeover started-”

“Who’s we?”

“Me and Pete, and our friend Patrick. We kind of - started an agency - but we weren’t exactly - uh, good, yet.”

“Evidently,” said Hurley, but he let Joe go. Joe tried to stretch without being obvious. His back was going to be hell on him in the morning.

“But we heard about you. How you were maybe looking for a way-”

“That’s over. It’s impossible.”

“Ever had a live test subject before?”

Silence.

“Look,” Joe said. “I’m sure you have your reasons to be super supsicious and everything, but we’ve pretty much established that you could kill me eleven ways from across the room with your eyes closed. If somebody was out to set you up, don’t you think they’d do a slightly better job of it?”

“So say you’re telling the truth. What do you want me to do? I told you already I can’t help.”

“You could come back with me. You could at least look.”

There was another pause. Hurley looked almost sad for a second. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s assume you’ve somehow managed to get a vampire contained  - for now. Maybe the transformation isn’t complete yet. Maybe he’s tricking you. Maybe he’s being mind controlled by his creator from a distance, and leading the rest of the pack to your hideout to finish up the meal. But sooner or later - probably sooner - he is going to turn on you, and then you will either manage to kill him, or you will die. Frankly I’d be more concerned about your other friend right now.”

A wave of the horror he had been suppressing threatened to overwhelm Joe, but he pushed it down. It wouldn’t happen. Pete might be - different - now, but there was no universe in which he would deliberately hurt Patrick. He couldn’t. He’d end himself first. Not that that was a comforting thought either.

“But I’ll look,” Hurley shrugged. “It will be educational if nothing else.” He was trying to come off as nonchalant, but Joe detected the change in his voice and movements. It seemed dropping Pete’s name still worked as well as when Joe was an underage kid trying to get into venues. Back then he’d figured that one day those places would hold the door open for him.

Funny how times changed.

“You better tell me exactly what happened,” Hurley said.

“Yeah,” Joe breathed out. “It’s kind of a - weird story.”

  


*

_Four Months Earlier._

 

So Pete Wentz was pretty much nothing like Patrick expected. For one thing, he was _tiny_ \- it was harder to notice onstage, but in person he was barely taller than Patrick and probably wore the same jeans size as his teenage scene-kid girlfriends. For another thing, he was not cool. Well okay, he was kind of cool - he was still Pete Wentz from Arma Angelus and Racetraitor - but also really a dork. He was hyper and over-excitable and touched people a lot. This was not something Patrick was used to, but somehow he didn’t seem to mind it as much as he thought he would.

In any case, Patrick was in a band with guys who played his kind of music, and also took an interest in the vampire sightings that had been happening around town. Patrick had never considered himself the heroic type. In a horror movie, he’d most likely be the guy who died in the opening teaser. But at the end of the school year, he’d said goodbye to the one person who’d actually been nice to him all year - a pretty brunette by the name of Laura who was in English and homeroom with him - and they’d sort of semi-agreed to meet up in the summer to talk about the assigned reading.

Three days later, Laura’s face was on the news, along with her grieving parents.

It was the first time Patrick had had a contemporary die. He’d already been halfway to convincing himself he was in love with her, but what got him the most was the absolute unfairness of it all. An entire year group full of assholes and the one good and decent person he’d happened to meet torn apart by -

\- At first, nobody believed it. It was too audacious. The treaties that held human and supernatural societies in balance hadn’t been breached in sixty years, not since the successful synthesis of artificial bloods. It was safer for everyone that way. Humans could be prosecuted for unprovoked attacks on supernatural creatures, but once a creature attacked a human they lost that protection. The very few rogue vamps and other supernaturals that had shown up in human cities to feed tended to be outcasts, shunned by their own kind for one reason or another, desperate and hungry.  These new attacks weren’t the work of disorganized loners. The vamps didn’t even drain their kills. They were either left half-consumed, like poor Laura, or turned and abducted.

The city’s response had been poor, in Patrick’s opinion. More police were designated to patrol the streets, armed with vamp-repellent weaponry. People were told not to panic. The heads of several vampire clans were contacted for comment, notably the Midwest Dandies. Reply was slow, as it always was, and couched in politician-speak: His Eminence expressed his condolences for the city’s losses. The Council could provide no comment on the attacks. The Council’s position was unchanged on all matters regarding human-vampire non-interference. Should the city provide proof of wrongdoing, the perpetrators would be dealt with. Naturally, there was no proof to send.

As June gave way to a hot July, five more people disappeared and three turned up in pieces.  One of the abductees was a woman in her thirties, but the rest were teenagers and college kids. When they’d met, Patrick thought Pete and Joe were a little flippant about the whole business - people were dying, after all. But he hadn’t told them about his classmate, and he understood it was one thing to hear stories on the news and another to actually know someone it had happened to. However, when he turned up with a newspaper cutout on the latest disappearance -

“Oh man, how old is this kid?” Pete winced.

“It says he’s sixteen,” Joe read over Patrick’s shoulder. “Brendon Urie, just finished sophomore year at Eastern Park High School.”

They were meeting at Pete’s house again. It was biggest, and his parents seemed to be busy a lot. Joe lived a bit further out in the suburbs, and Patrick wasn’t overly keen on bringing his new friends home. Pete had managed to charm his mom within ten minutes, to a truly embarrasing degree, and now she kept saying what a nice young man he was and why couldn’t Patrick be more personable like that?

“I know,” said Joe dryly. “He does that. I think my mom likes him better than me now. She keeps trying to feed him baked goods, baked goods that were formerly headed in my direction.”

They all studied the two page spread in the _Chicago Sun-Times_. A black-and-white shot of a dark-haired, dorky kid with square glasses and braces on his teeth grinned up at them. He looked about twelve. The story said he’d vanished on his way home from marching band practice. His trumpet and case had been found in back alley, in addition to his opened backpack. His tearful parents - religious types - said he was a good boy who never broke curfew deliberately. He had about eighteen brothers and sisters.

“Jesus,” Pete sighed.

“Okay well,” Joe drew himself up. “This seems like a great case to start our investigations.”

“It might not be vamps,” Patrick cautioned. “They didn’t find any blood at the scene, but...”

“...but they could have taken him to turn him,” Pete finished.

“All the other victims had some kind of warning,” Joe pointed out. “That’s what makes the cops think it's a power play. Like that woman who thought her crazy ex was stalking her, leaving messages about immortality or some shit.”

“Well, maybe he did have warnings,” said Pete.

“He’s sixteen, and it looks like he’s close with his family. Wouldn’t he have told them?”

“Who knows?” Patrick said. “He could have all kinds of reasons for keeping it to himself.”

“If he didn’t tell his parents, maybe he has friends,” Pete says. “It seems as good a place to any to start looking. Do you guys know anybody from Eastern Park High?”

“There might be a couple of guys from the scene I could talk to,” said Joe.

“Shouldn’t we like - go to the scene of the crime first?” Patrick asked. “Isn’t that how you usually start an investigation?”

“We can do that,” Pete agreed. “Joe, you try getting in touch with the kids from Eastern Park, okay? Me and Patrick will check out the crime scene.”

There was a very brief pause and Patrick looked at Joe. For a second it seemed like Joe was going to object, then he just shrugged and said,

“Okay.”

That was how Patrick found himself in the front seat of Pete’s rather nice black convertible.

“This is yours?” he asked.

“Yeah. My parents gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday.”

“Wow,” Patrick said.

“Yeah well,” Pete shrugged, and Patrick almost thought he looked angry for a second, then he blew it off. “It's no big to them.” They got across the city in good time - traffic was thin at midday, most people in their offices or holed up at home, spooked by the spree of violence. Patrick had half thought the alley would be closed, cut off with ‘Police line, do not cross tapes’ - but it seemed any police work was over and done with. The alley where Brendon’s things had been found was empty, but for a dumpster and some trash.

“Well,” said Pete.

“Want to...open the dumpster?” Patrick offered.

“I guess…”

“Looking for evidence?” a dry voice asked from behind them.

A guy in his forties or fifties was leaning against the wall. He was dirty, layered clothes torn, a large bag slung on his back. Patrick looked again at what he’d thought was a heap of rubbish, and realized it was an arrangement of boxes and blankets, a meager shelter set up against the far wall near the entrance to the alley. Guilt surged through him.

“We’re sorry,” he said. “Do you need, uh….” his hands went to his pockets.

“You’re not the first,” said the homeless guy. “A couple of girls and their boyfriends were here yesterday. Everyone’s a vampire hunter these days.” He laughed a bitter laugh and sat down in his shelter.

“It was vampires?” Pete asked sharply. “Did you see anything?”

“I have ten bucks,” Patrick offered him, wondering if he was patronising or conducting an exchange.

“Sure was,” said the homeless guy. “Dandies. I didn’t stick around to watch, seeing as I'm not quite ready to give up on being alive. But I heard plenty.”

“Oh my God,” Pete breathed.

“They turned him,” said the homeless guy, “and I guess they took him.”

“Where? Do you have any idea where they’re living?”

“No, because I’m not insane enough to follow vampires around,” the guy said dryly. “Look, kids - look at yourselves. You have good lives. You’re young. Why are you trying to get yourselves killed? Go home. Go to school. Play on your computers."

“We’re _trying,”_ Pete said indignantly, “To do something that matters with our good lives.”

The guy shrugged. “Your funerals.”

“Thanks for the information,” said Patrick hurriedly, and pushed a ten dollar bill on the guy. He accepted it and nodded at him.

“Let’s go get Joe and research the Dandies’ movements,” Pete said.

“Sounds like a plan,” said Patrick and they high fived. Patrick and The Pete Wentz just high fived, naturally, without thinking about it.

Patrick felt warm inside.

 

TBC

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and leaving kudos, I'm glad you are liking it! I would love some feedback if you have any comments/suggestions for the story please? (Don't worry, I know the main plot, it won't trail off into nothing and will definitely be completed, but am open to side events/situations/etc you would like to see). Thanks you!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe recalls the Agency's first case. Andy is intrigued.

So Patrick and Pete had gone off together, leaving Joe to track down a friend of a friend who might have known Brendon Urie. It was fair enough, he guessed. Joe was the one with the vague connections, and investigations in dark alleys were probably best done with a partner. But. The Agency and the the new band had been _his and Pete’s_ idea, and Pete was _his_ friend, had been since Joe was fourteen and starry-eyed, hanging around on the outskirts of the hardcore scene, overawed by anyone in a band. Sure, Joe wasn’t that kid anymore - it could hardly be said that he _looked up_ to Pete - but some deep buried part of him muttered and stirred with jealousy, perturbed by Pete and Patrick’s instant bonding. PeteandPatrick. PatrickandPete. Even their names went together. _Don’t be stupid,_ he told himself. It was a good thing. The better friends they all were, the better their projects would work out. _Three’s a crowd,_ sneered that nasty voice, but Joe pushed it down.

Joe made some calls from his contact list, and soon arranged to meet two guys at the Shake Shack on East Ohio St. They were late, so Joe ordered a chocolate shake with the last few dollars in his wallet. His parents were big on him getting a job lately, and being in a band didn’t count. Joe guessed that vampire hunter wouldn’t go down too well either.

Just as he was slurping the last of his drink, Joe looked up to see two kids hurrying towards his booth. Both of them were familiar, and he guessed he’d seen them at shows before. One was tall, brown haired and thin as a stick, the other dark-blond and stockier. He had the sharpest blue eyes Joe had ever seen.

“Sorry we’re late,” said the skinny one. “I just got my learner’s permit revoked, and we underestimated the walk from Spence’s house.”

“It’s cool.” Joe said, “You must be Ryan Ross.”

“I am, and he’s Spencer Smith. Nice to meet you.”

“You go to Rise Against shows, right?” said the blond, Spencer, and Joe nodded,

“Yeah. I’ve seen you around.”

“Anyway,” Ryan sat down and slid into the booth. “You wanted to talk about Brendon, right? Do you know anything? He’s not dead, right? He can’t be dead, because why would anyone take him if they didn’t want him for something?”

“Well, uh,” Joe coughed. He hated being the bearer of bad shit. “It depends what you mean by ‘dead’, uh…”

“You think it was vampires.” Spencer sat down. He seemed less frantic than Ryan, but very solemn. Now that Joe looked closely, Ryan was a bit of a mess, hair sticking up like he’d been pulling it every which way, shadows under his eyes like he hadn’t slept.

“No,” said Ryan. “They wouldn’t dare. It was barely dark, so near the city center….” he put his head in his hands.

“I think they might have,” Joe said apologetically. Ryan set his jaw:

“Well. Well then. We’ll just have to - we’ll have to get him back, I guess.”

Joe pitied the poor kid. He wanted to say there was nothing to _get_ back - that either Brendon had been a meal, or he had been turned. Later, he’d look back on this, and think the universe had a bleak sense of irony.

“Why did you want to see us?” Spencer asked.

“Well, we wanted to know if-”

“Who’s we?” interrupted Ryan.

“Uh, me and Pete Wentz, and our friend Patrick, we’re kind of-”

 _“Pete Wentz?”_ The boys asked in unison.

“Yeah.” The usual thing. Every time Joe used the namedrop masterkey, he felt half empowered and half like a loser, nothing more than proxy between Pete and all the Chicago scene kids who wanted to know him.

“What’s he like?” asked Ryan, momentarily distracted from his friend’s plight.

“Really small and kind of an asshole. Anyway, we’re kind of, training to track down vampires. And, you know, deal with them. Since the treaties are broken....”

“The city’s gonna need protection from what happens next.” Ryan nodded. This kid had a poetic streak; Pete would like him.

“Are you like - some kind of undercover cop?” Spencer narrowed his eyes at Joe. “You don’t look old enough. Plus you totally didn’t bust me for getting wasted at that Racetraitor show and I know I saw you in the pit, man.”

“No, no,” Joe shook his head. “Nothing like that. I’m just - interested in this sort of thing.”

“How old are you?” Ryan demanded.

“Seventeen,” Joe said. “Eighteen in the Fall.”

Both boys seemed to relax a bit.

“I’m gonna go order a shake, Ryan, what do you want?” Spencer asked.

“I don’t care, get me whatever you’re getting,” Ryan said. “So, have you found out anything about Brendon?”

“Not yet, but that’s where you come in.” Joe reached into his backpack and pulled out a file of notes they’d compiled on the other victims. Ryan’s eyes widened. “So, okay. First question. In the news story, it seemed like Brendon was pretty close with his family. Is that true?”

“Well, uh,” Ryan shifted. “It depends what you mean by close, if you get me.  He likes them well enough. They get on fine. But he’s not about to be sharing the texts from his ex-boyfriend, if you know what I mean.”

Ah. _Now_ they were getting somewhere. “What kind of texts are you talking about?” Joe flipped a notebook page and scribbled frantically.

“Eh, just the usual, ‘I was wrong but I’ve changed, let me make it up to you, just give me another chance’ and blah blah”, Ryan made a gagging imitation. “It was getting pretty pathetic.”

“And what did Brendon say? Was he going to get back with this guy?”

“No way. He was going to meet up with Brent, just to let him down gently. He’s really great like that, you know? Anyone else would just blank the asshole. Hey - look man- what does this have to do with him being missing? Brent’s a dumbass, not a kidnapper.”

Joe thought about how to answer. Luckily at that moment, Spencer returned with a pair of what looked like vanilla milkshakes, sliding one over to Ryan in a practiced move.

“The texts were definitely from Brent - from, Brendon’s ex,” Ryan said. “He never changed his number.”

Several unpleasant scenarios occurred to Joe as explanations for that, but he decided to refrain from voicing them in front of these middle-school-looking children. Which reminded him:

“How old are _you_ guys?”

“Sixteen,” said Ryan.

“Fifteen,” Spencer admitted. “But we're in the same classes. Ryan only turned sixteen like three weeks ago so don’t let him act like he’s some big shot.”

“Okay,” said Joe, and considered. “Okay.” He  didn’t want to involve these kids any more than he had to. He already felt oddly protective towards them, even though they were only a school year apart in age. A year in high school could be a long time.

“Dude, have you _talked_ to Brent recently?” Spencer said to Ryan.

“Fuck no, why would I do that? Oh. Oh you don’t think. You think someone faked those messages, don’t you?” Ryan said to Joe. “Or they have Brent’s cellphone.”

Apparently the kids had involved themselves.

“It's possible,” Joe said. “Or this could all be a co-incidence, and your buddy will turn up tomorrow with the hangover from hell and no bigger problems than how to explain the whole thing to the cops and his parents.”

Spencer looked hopeful, but Ryan shook his head. “No. Brendon wouldn’t. He’s too careful for that.”

“Well then,” Joe shrugged and stood up, palming his car keys. “I guess I’m gonna be paying your buddy’s ex a visit.”

They both stared at him.

“What?” Joe asked.

“Are you going now?” said Ryan.

“Well, I was gonna go to the bathroom first, if that’s alright with you….what? Why?” Joe was suspicious.

“We want to come,” said Spencer.

“Uhh, yeah right,” Joe snorted. “This could be dangerous. I don’t want to be responsible for you guys - why would I bring you with me exactly?”

Ryan and Spencer shared a significant look. Then Ryan said,

“Because we know where Brent lives, and you don’t.”

“...”

“...”

“....Goddamit,” said Joe.

 

*

 

“Wait,” Andrew Hurley might actually have smiled at that. “Are you telling me you were outsmarted by a couple of high school kids?”

“Technically I’m still a high school kid myself,” Joe told him. “Got a year to go. I ditch a lot, but I read the textbooks, which is all you really need to do to graduate.”

“Hmm,” Hurley looked at the road again. He’d told Joe to stash his bike in the back of the truck, before the two of them got up into the cab.  “Keeping an eye on me?” Joe had joked.

“Of course.”

“Wow.” Joe raised an eyebrow. “Seriously dude - sometimes you just got to make a leap of faith in people, you know? It makes life easier.”

“It makes life _shorter._ Left or right here?”

“Left. Keep going until you hit the bridge.”

Hurley kept his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel. It was a quarter to eight, and despite the increased police presence on the streets, a slow flow of traffic was headed into the city for the evenings. A few months ago it was busier - nowadays more people had the sense to stay locked up after dark. Sense had never been Joe’s strong point. Hurley must have been wondering along those lines, because he said,

“So you got a family? Your parents let you run around doing this 'agency' shit?”

“Well they. They don’t exactly know. I mean they know about the band - so they think I sleep over my friends’ places a lot and have practice and do shows and things. Which is sometimes true!  They’re worried - everybody’s worried - what with the attacks - but I argued that like if I’m going to college next year, I need to develop my independence.”

“You want to go to college?”

“Hell no. But my parents don’t need to know that.”

Hurley seemed to consider that. They passed the sign for Chicago city limits.

“Next right,” said Joe. “Then go on to the roundabout.”

“So you still haven’t told me how Pete got turned.”

“I’m getting to it,” said Joe. "And we're about to get stuck in traffic anyway."

"Shit," said Andy, as they came to a dead stop behind a Lexus.

"And so, I guess was the day after that," Joe sighed and looked down at his hands, "The Dandies made their move on the city."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and leaving kudos guys! Tell me what you think so far?


	5. Chapter 5

Joe, Spencer and Ryan piled into Joe’s car, with Ryan in the front passenger seat to give directions. He looked enviously at Joe the driver’s seat:

“I can’t believe I lost my permit again.”

“You should try sticking to the speed limit,” Spencer advised. “And maybe not arguing with the cops when you get pulled over.”

“That guy was harassing me! It was blatant abuse of authority!”

“Right or left here?” Joe interrupted. Despite the fact he could apparently drive, Ryan was terrible at giving directions, going,

“Oh! Turn now!” when Joe was three centimeters from the junction, and getting confused at roundabouts. Nonetheless, they eventually made it to the rundown row house where Brent apparently lived. The small garden out front was neglected, weeds sprouting from the grass, and paint was peeling from the wooden fence that separated the houses. The small garden out front was neglected, weeds sprouting from the grass, and paint was peeling from the wooden fence that separated the houses. Joe grabbed his backpack from the back seat. Joe felt a little silly, carting a heavy bag full of stakes and silver around whilst he was gathering intel from children, but one of the first rules they’d put down for the Sixteen Candles Agency was: always be prepared. Ryan strode determinedly up the up path with Spencer right behind him. Joe hung back a little way, observing. Ryan knocked the door. Nothing happened. He knocked again and Spencer leaned around to look in the window. After a long moment, there were scuffling sounds from inside the house, and the thud-thud of someone walking heavily down a staircase. 

Finally the door opened halfway to reveal another boy, dark haired and rather baby-faced. He looked disgruntled, as though he’d been interrupted in the middle of something.

“What do you want?” he said.

“Have you been texting Brendon to try and get back with him?”

“What’s it to you?”

Spencer chipped in: “Brent, you know Brendon is missing right? Do you even watch the news?”

There was a long pause, and something passed over Brent’s face that Joe couldn’t read.

“You’d better come in,” he said at last, then looked at Joe: “Who’s he?”

“Just a friend, his name is Joe, he’s cool,” Ryan said. 

“Alright,” said Brent suspiciously, but stood back to invite them all inside his house. Joe blinked at the sudden darkness. Brent seemed to have the curtains closed and the main  
lights off, though he turned on the overhead light when they entered the living room. It was still dim, but manageable. The room was fairly bare, just some couches, a coffee table and a TV set, and a fine layer of dust lay over everything. Ryan and Spencer perched awkwardly on the edge of the couch. Joe remained standing.

“So do you guys want a drink or something?” Brent asked disinterestedly. 

“Uhh….sure,” the boys looked at each other. 

“We have juice….or I think there’s some coke in the fridge….”

“Coke would be great,” said Spencer, so Brent went off to get the drinks.

“Do we trust him not to spit in them?” said Ryan quietly, and Spencer rolled his eyes at him. Brent brought them cokes in chipped mugs, which was weird - maybe he couldn’t find any clean glasses - and Joe sipped his tentatively at first, then more normally - it was just coke.

“So,” Brent didn’t sit down, but leaned against the television’s case, placing his own mug on top of it. “What do you want to ask?”

“Okay, before Brendon dis - went - over the past couple of weeks, Brendon got a series of messages from your phone. Did you text him?”

“Yes,” said Brent. 

“Why?”

“Because I still care about him,” Brent said.

“Oh, Jesus,” Spencer rolled his eyes.

“We were good together,” Brent argued.

“Brent, you acted like a dick to Brendon and you know it.”

“I made some mistakes. But I’ve really changed now.” There was something in Brent’s voice that made Joe uneasy. “I’ve really….matured recently. Now there’s so much more I can offer him.” Brent smiled, a large, toothy, smile. Too large, Joe realized with a sinking feeling, and too toothy. Why hadn’t he noticed? Brent toasted them ironically with his mug, tipping it, so they could all see the contents was dark red and thick like….

….like what it was. Blood.

Brent tipped the mug theatrically and swallowed, then ran his tongue over his - fangs, his vampiric fangs - 

Joe had to keep him talking. Ryan and Spencer were motionless on the couch, staring in horror at their former classmate. Joe brought his bag to is side and felt for the stake, cursing himself for being too obvious, but this was a real live - well, you know - actual vampire in front of him for the first time ever, and he was kind of freaking out, okay?

“So,” Joe said. “I’m guessing you know where Brendon is.”

“Only roughly,” Brent shrugged.

“That seems kind of neglectful, what with you being a new father and all.”

“Oh you think-!” Brent’s movements had changed. He’d been faking before, Joe realized, pretending to be human. Now he assumed the languid grace vampires possessed, strength and agility advertised in their moves. Joe swallowed. He used to run track in the sixth to eighth grade, but that was as far as he went with physical training. They should  
probably add some sort of regimen to the Agency’s timetable. Definitely. Yeah.

Brent walked the length of the mantelpiece slowly, sliding his mug along. “You think I turned Brendon,” he held Joe’s eyes. Joe forced himself not to look away, to keep the vampire’s attention on him, not the boys on the couch. “Thanks for the compliment, but I wouldn’t consider myself that important. The Boss has had his eye on that boy for a little while now. I simply laid the bait.”

“Brendon always goes straight home from band practice,” Ryan said, and Joe groaned mentally. “He has a curfew.”

“Well, yes, but he also has a soft heart and a highly gullible nature. I simply sent him some melodramatic nonsense: “I have to see you now, I can’t go on, you’re the only one who can save me, et cetera. I told him he had to meet me immediately on Park Bridge, and let him draw his own conclusions.” Brent shrugged, lightly and more gracefully than he had before.

“Working for the boss, huh?” Joe tried to bait him. “Sounds annoying.”

“Hardly. The benefits are excellent, as long as I deliver the boss what he wants.. Such as the freedom to drain who I want, when I want. Like say...you guys. Now.”

Brent lunged towards Spencer, but Joe had been waiting for that. Grasping the stake with one hand, he leaned forwards, and with a swift decisive moment, shoved it into Brent’s back. Brent froze. For a split second, he thought he’d done it wrong, misjudged the position of the heart or failed t get the stake deep enough. Then with a hiss and a gurgling noise, Brent crumpled.

Like a cartoon, Ryan and Spencer’s eyes followed him down to the floor.

“Woah,” said Ryan. Brent gagged, and purple foam fizzled at the corners of his mouth. His eyes rolled back in his skull and he thrashed a little, before falling still.

“Holy shit,” said Spencer.

“That - he,”

“Yeah,” agreed Joe.

“HOLY SHIT, THAT’S A VAMPIRE,” said Spencer.

“He - um - yeah - DUDE YOU’RE LIKE A SUPERHERO,” yelled Ryan.

Joe didn’t feel much like a superhero. He felt like someone who just killed a man. Kid. Vampire. Whatever.

“What the - how long have you been doing this?” Spencer demanded. “How many vamps have you killed?”

“Well, uh, counting this, that makes a total of, uh, one,” Joe admitted.

There was a long pause.

“Well you totally saved our asses,” said Ryan.

“Anytime.”

“So I guess we should like - “ Spencer gestured half-heartedly to the body on the floor. There was very little bleeding, but the foam stuff was still gathering at the corners of 

Brent’s mouth, and his eye were glazed and unseeing.

“Oh shit, we have to move the body,” Ryan said. “His parents are gonna come home and we’ll get, like, arrested.”

“It was self defence!” Spencer objected. “Well - other defence! Plus I think his parents would have noticed that their kid turned into a vampire, Ryan! He’s probably eaten them!”

“Okay,” Joe paced back and forth restlessly. “Okay. We should like. We should dump it in the bathtub or something.”

“WHAT IS THAT GOING TO ACCOMPLISH?” yelled Ryan.

“I DON’T KNOW, THEY DID IT ON BREAKING BAD! I JUST SAVED YOU GUYS, FIGURE OUT THE BODY DISPOSAL!”

"I wish we'd interrogated him first," said Spencer wistfully.

"WELL JEEZ I'M SORRY, I WAS KIND OF DISTRACTED!" Joe yelled. 

In the end, the carried the body out the back of the house and dumped it in an alley. It was absolutely the shadiest and grossest thing Joe had ever been a part of.

“They can’t, like, come back to life, right?” Ryan asked nervously when they all got back in the car. “I mean. Again?”

“Not as far as I know,” said Joe.

“Anyway, uh,” Spencer said, “He said something about a boss, right?”

“Yeah, pretty much all the vampires are organized into gangs by now,” Joe said. “I just never heard of them turning someone and then letting them run all over the place like...anyway.” He turned the engine on. “I’m taking you guys home. I have to go meet my friends and-”

There was a chorus of objection from the backseat.

“Forget it,” said Joe firmly. “I shouldn't even have let you come this far. You guys are going home. And, er, going to bed I guess. I don’t know, what do you usually do on a Friday night?”

“We go to Ryan’s house and get drunk,” Spencer piped up. “Then we go to McDonalds.”

“Well - okay,” said Joe. “At least I’m not responsible for that, I guess.”

“But you’ll call us, right? As soon as you know anything? Like you’re not gonna try and rescue our friend without us, because that would be bullshit, okay?”

“Left here,” Spencer interrupted.

“Jesus - okay, never mind, we can turn around.”

“You’ll call us” Ryan insisted.

“Sure,” said Joe. He wasn’t lying, exactly, because he didn’t’ say when he’d call them or under what circumstances. Ryan wrote down his number and also called Joe’s phone, so he couldn’t have the excuse of having lost it. Then he said,

“Bye,” and the kids tumbled out of the car, still talking avidly. Joe took a deep breath, and dialled Pete.


	6. Chapter 6

In the event, they didn’t have to wait very long to find out who Brent was talking about. Pete came rushing down to the basement the very next morning and said,

“Dudes, turn the news on!” 

Patrick and Joe had spent the night after they met up again and shared details of their respective afternoons. Pete made Joe repeat the story of how he staked a vampire three times - he seemed somewhat less psyched about it than Patrick would have expected, no matter how much they reminded him that he’d  _ totally saved two people.  _ One wall of the basement was covered in pushpins already, securing notes and maps and scraps of theories they’d been working on deep into the night.

“Yeah it's just,” Joe had shrugged. “I know that, man. And I’d do it again. It's just - when you see them in pictures, they seem so  _ inhuman,  _ but he still looked like a person, you know what I mean? He looked like a kid, and sounded like one when he first talked.”

“Well - he wasn’t,” Patrick assured him.

“I know,” Joe said again.

“What did it feel like?” Pete demanded. “When the stake went in?”

“It was harder than I expected,” Joe said. “Like - more resistance. We need to start training properly to do this shit.”

“We will,” Pete assured him.

As usual, Pete was up before any of them in the morning. He'd apparently been upstairs, gotten changed and caught the headlines. Still half asleep, but galvanized by the apparent urgency in Pete’s voice, Patrick sat up and fumbled for the remote. It was already turned to the news channel, and the announcer’s came in halfway through a sentence -

“- can confirm that the new self-appointed leader of the Dandies has claimed responsibility for the attacks, and has declared intention to take control of the city of the Chicago, using, and we quote, hostile action if necessary.”

“What do you have to say about the treaties?” shouted a reporter. The scene cut to an elegant vampire in a suit and hat that looked like it came from the nineteenth century. Come to think of it, they probably did. He was standing outside the civic buildings in the middle of town, in broad daylight with apparently no ill effects. Patrick didn’t understand it.

“Those treaties were signed by my predecessor,” said the vampire, who had the appearance of a man in his early twenties. He was tall and pretty, with long wavy brown hair and a pointy face. “I did not agree to them. Nor did many of the people my predecessor claimed to represent.” There was a murmur of pleased assent from the vampires gathered behind him, and a new reporter waved her hand in the air

“Elaine Morris, Evening Standard Politics. Mr. Beckett, what do you think gives you the authority to supersede Mr. Saporta as head of the Midwest Dandies, and how do you think the human leaders of Chicago will respond to your territory claim?”

“One thing I do find with human politicians,” said the vampire easily, flexing his long fingers in white gloves by briefly kitting them together: “One thing I do  find with humans in general is that the different  _ time frames  _ in which we think informs our perspective in mutually beneficial fashion. Our natural lives are so very long - whereas theirs are so very- fragile.” There were scandalized noises and several camera bulbs flashed. “As to my fitness for office,” Beckett grinned, letting the light catch is fangs: “I believe the manner in which I assumed it rather to speaks to those results.”

There was a wave of nervous laughter. It was difficult to say what came from the humans reporters and what from the vampires. Suddenly a very young man in police uniform stood up.

“Jacob Saunders, South Chicago PD. Mr. Beckett, do you understand that by confessing to the involuntary turning of four human citizens, directly or by accessory-”

“Excuse me? Involuntary?” Beckett arched an eyebrow.

“You just - you just said-” The young cop was thrown.

“Officer - Sanders, was it? -  I appreciate the vote of confidence. But at this time I assure you the - as you put it -   _ turnings -  _  have been absolutely voluntary, indeed, solicited. Nor has every human who has  _ chosen  _ to associate with us been turned. But don’t take my word for it. Brendon, why don’t you come up here?”

There were gasps from the assembled audience, and the crowd parted to allow a kid in similar dress to take the microphone. Patrick recognized him immediately as the boy from the newspaper story. He showed no physical signs of being a vampire, but according to Joe, nor had the other kid, until he did, all of a sudden. He was no paler or more ethereal looking than than he had been in his photographs, but there was a strange, fixed expression on his face. Beckett smiled at him.

“Is there something you’d like to tell the people, Brendon?” he prompted.

“I am very happy,” said Brendon. “This was my choice.”

“What was, dear?” Beckett asked him.

“To join you,” Brendon smiled beatifically. 

“Nooo way!” Pete said. “That’s not normal.”

“He’s enthralled,” said Patrick, mind racing back over the reading he’d done the past few days. “He’s got to be.” There was a buzz of excited chatter from the crowd.

Joe’s phone started ringing. They all fumbled around until Pete found it and answered it.

“Hello? No, this is Pete. He’s here. Who are you?”

Joe tried to wrestle his phone off Pete but Pete said, 

“Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker.”

An extremely young and excited voice yelled

“Brendon’s on TV!”

“Is that Ryan?” Joe yelled.

“ARE YOU TALKING TO PETE WENTZ?” yelled someone else in the background on the other end of the line.

“PETE GIVE ME THE PHONE!” Joe yelled.

“DUDE SHUSH MY PARENTS ARE UPSTAIRS!” Pete yelled louder. In his distraction he dropped the phone, which Patrick rescued whilst Pete and Joe wrestled.

“Sixteen Candles Vampire Containment and Dispatchment Agency,” he said professionally. “Are you calling about the Brendon Urie case?”

“Yeah,” said the person, apparently Ryan, now sounding halfway suspicious. “He’s on TV right now.”

“We’re watching,” said Patrick, and Joe and Pete seemed impressed enough that they sat down and listened to him. “So you’re aware of the - situation.”

“He’s not turned though!” the other person shouted in the background of Ryan’s phone.

“As far as we can tell,” said Patrick.

“We have to get him back,” Ryan said. Patrick wasn't sure what to do with that vote of confidence, so he said,

“Yes, naturally. We’re just doing some, uh, reconnaissance at the moment. We’ll be back in touch with you as soon as-”

“What do you need?”

“Sorry?”

“What kind of reconiasssance are you doing?” The kid sounded impatient. “Whatever it is, we can help with it. It's got to go faster with more people, right?”

“Heyyy, Ryan, it's Joe, can I call you back in like fifteen minutes?” Joe asked loudly.

“Why?”

“We, uh, just wanna talk about-”

“You don’t have a plan, do you?” Ryan said in Patrick's ear.

All three of them looked at each other.

“Look, guys,” said the kid in the backround. “The way you took Brent out, that was awesome, Joe. But we talked about it and we pretty much figured out you’re not actually experts in vampire hunting.”

“More expert than you,” Joe said. Patrick rolled his eyes at him.

“Well yeah,” says Ryan. “Duh. Otherwise we would’n’t have called you. But anyway we’ve done some research and stuff ourselves, so do you want to meet in like an hour?”

All three of them continued to look at each other.

“I guess?” Patrick said.

“Awesome,” said Pete, entirely too cheerfully.

“Pete they’re like little kids,” Joe said unhappily when they hung up the phone.

“So were you when I met you,” Pete said, “And just look at you now.”

 

*

 

“That does sound like Pete,” Hurley admitted. They were stuck in a traffic jam at one of the new checkpoints going in and out of the city center. Joe was starting to worry about Patrick, but his phone had no signal. Joe tried to surreptitiously lean aside to look how many cars were in front of them. It was a lot.

“What, the being hero icand risking his lives for strangers part? Or the endangering children and being an asshole part?”

“Both,” said Hurley and drummed his fingers on the dash.

 

*

 

Patrick’s house was the most central, so he called home and checked to see if his mom was in. She was at work, so he agreed they could all come over, though he warned them there might not be food in the house. They stopped and found some barbeque beef flavor chips which were apparently vegetarian, soda and some off brand cereal. Joe started eating the chips in Pete’s car. Patrick looked baleful:

“Dude, you want some?” Joe offered him the packet.

“No,” Patrick said.

“Yeah you do,” Joe protested.

“Yeah but I’ll get fat. Fatter,” Patrick said. “You guys are so lucky. I swear to god I gain weight if I look at an apple.”

“Patrick you’re not fat!” Pete screeched, taking both hands off the wheel and turning to face him: “You’re perfect!”

“PETE LOOK AT THE GODDAMN ROAD!” Patrick grabbed the wheel while Joe closed his eyes and prepared for imminent death, but the car just lurched sickeningly for a second before adjusting. “Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you?!”

“I'm sorry,” Pete said sadly. “But, Patrick, why would you say you’re fat? Don’t say that! You’re adorable!”

Patrick gave him a very dry look which Joe which starting to consider as his signature.

“You are though!” Pete argued. “Patrick you’re cute. Say you’re cute. Say it."

“I am not a dog, Pete. And you need to get in lane now."

Pete looked frustrated but put the car in the right lane. Seeing as Ryan and Spencer didn’t have a car, they’d arranged to pick them up outside a local park which would normally be busy with kids on a summer morning. Today it was pretty deserted. The boys were sitting on the swingsets, but stood up and waved when they saw Joe get out of the car. They both piled in the back and Joe introduced them.

“What’s up, I’m Pete and this is Patrick,” Pete said.

“Oh, cool, man,” said Ryan in a voice that was trying way too hard to sound nonchalant, then looked like he wanted to punch himself. Joe snickered. They all got inside and ate some of the food while Pete and Patrick Googled for news updates, and Joe and set up alerts for ‘William Beckett’ and ‘Dandies’. 

“It seems like he keeps on the move a lot,” Patrick said.

“That makes sense,” said Joe. “If the guy’s just taken over, he’ll have enemies.”

“We can use that,” said Pete. “There must be Dandies who still like, want the old guy back. What did the news say his name was?”

“Saporta,” Patrick was reading off of his laptop. “Gabriel Saporta. Three hundred years and the head of the Midwest Dandies for over seventy….he was, I mean. Beckett might have killed him by now.”

“Can we find  _ him _ ?” Ryan demanded.

“I don’t think we want to. His reputation before the treaties isn’t exactly friendly.”

“Enemy of my enemy, though, right?”

“We should start smaller,” Spencer suggested. “Like with some of their henchmen or whatever.” 

“Oh my God, it was the spur of the moment! I didn’t think interrogating Brent okay!” Joe said.

“Woah, dude, chill, we know, okay? We’re still totally grateful. I was just thinking how somebody must have turned him. Brent used to hang out at this weird club, with all these goth kids? Like, if anywhere would be an easy place for vampires to get prey, that would be. We should go there tonight and try to figure out who turned him, or if they’re looking for him or what.”

“We might not find anyone,” Ryan looked miserable. “And in any case it's not direct enough. Brendon could be about to get turned at literally any moment. We should just…”

“Look,” Patrick said. “There’s no point in getting ourselves ki - in trouble, okay? They’re stronger, smarter and there’s way more of them.”

“Is he always this motivational?” Spencer asked.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

_ Almost Halloween _ was the sort of club that seemed precision engineered to make Patrick uncomfortable, all lowlights and black booths and tattooed bartenders with bored expressions on their classically beautiful faces.  _ Almost Halloween _ was a 16-and-up venue, but legal drinkers and people with persuasive fake IDs could get wristbands. Pete got a wristband and gave it to Joe. Despite the fact he looked kind of like a 14 year old, Ryan apparently had a persuasive fake ID.

“You two are teenage hellions,” Joe said.

“But we have good hearts, right?” Ryan said.

Spencer said:  _ “Hellions?  _ Are you seventy?”

To make matters worse, Pete had insisted they all make an effort to ‘blend in’. As a result, Patrick was wearing the tightest black jeans that had ever touched his body and a t-shirt for a band he’d never heard of. Both were Spencer’s. Pete had offered Patrick jeans as though he was oblivious to the fact that Patrick wouldn’t get Pete’s skinny jeans past his knees. It was weird, the way Pete looked at him. Pete and Ryan were wearing _make-up,_  but in fairness, so was most of the club. They both knew how to put it on. When Pete had looked up with his eyes lined and artfully smudged mascara, Patrick had done a double take. Pete looked like a girl - a pretty girl. Huh. That was - weird.

Then Pete had said,

“Let me do you,” and came at him with the eyeliner, and Patrick was too busy fighting him off to think of it anymore. If it was any solace, Joe seemed nearly as uncomfortable as Patrick, even after Pete gave him his wristband.

“So uh, where do we start?” he glanced around, probably thinking that everyone in the club kind of looked like a vampire.

“Bar, I guess,” Pete said. “Bartenders always have information.” They went up in a little group and Pete leaned provocatively on the counter, trying to attract attention. Patrick tried to look casual. A bartender leaned over and said,

“What’ll you have?” displaying a full mouth of very prominent fangs. Patrick made a noise that definitely wasn’t a scream. The bartender rolled her eyes and tapped a poster behind her head:

'Vamp Night!' it read prominently. 'Wear your best fangs, the night is delicious….free drink for anyone in costume.' 

“Well, shit,” said Joe.

“Don’t you think this is kind of in bad taste?” said Patrick crossly. “Given recent events and all?”

“Tell it to management,” the bartender shrugged. She  wearing a black bodice with bleached blonde hair, and her nametag read ‘Maja’. “Are you ordering? We’re busy.” 

“Diet Coke I guess,” Patrick said.

I’ll take a beer,” Ryan leaned over the bar and showed his wristband. “And any information you have on Brent Wilson.”

“Who?” Maja  poured the beer and got a Diet Coke out of the refrigerator.

“Seventeen, long hair, wears a lot of black?”

Maja looked dryly around at the club’s patrons, raised one eyebrow, and slid the beer across the bar to him.

“Fair point,” Pete said.

“Okay so,” Spencer tried. “Have you heard of a guy getting turned around here?”

“Oh,” said the bartender: “Ohhh okay. More vampire groupies. Great.”

“We’re not vampire groupies! We’re-” Ryan said.

“Just really, really into vampires,” Pete cut him off, and batted his eyelashes at Maja. She sighed and called,

“Victoria!” and another bartender approached. She was extremely pretty, a short black dress hugging her slim curves, bobbed black hair gleaming. Patrick had been  brought up to be a gentleman, but he  _ was  _ a teenage boy, and normally he’d be staring at her surreptitiously and trying to adjust his jeans. For some reason, it wasn’t happening now.

“Got some more vamp groupies for you,” Maja said, then went off to serve some customers.

“You guys looking to get bitten?” asked Victoria directly.

“Uh,” said Pete. They all looked at each other. Honesty wasn’t getting them very far, so perhaps the subtler approach was needed. Still Patrick winced when he said, “Sure.”

“Disclaimer,” said Victoria, “I think you’re all crazy, but hey, it’s your funerals. If you come around the back I can hook you up for it. Fifty bucks.”

“How much cash do you guys have?” Joe got his wallet out.

“Each,” Victoria clarified.

_“Each?”_ Ryan repeated.

“Per person looking to turn. This is a dangerous business,” Victoria shrugged. “I’m not in it for the fun.”

“Well, uh, only I want to actually turn,” Pete said. Patrick’s stomach dropped. ‘This is a bad idea’, he thought, suddenly and with acute clarity. Part of him was still stuck on the fact that not only were there people who legitimately _wanted to get bitten,_ but enough of them for viable black market. The rest of him was wanted to yell that Pete hadn't meant it, it was just a joke, joke's over now.   So he fake coughed. Pete looked at him for a moment. And they held each other’s gaze. It was so odd how they could communicate like this, like Pete registered his objections silently, then dismissed them.

“Let’s do it,” Victoria said. “I guess you guys want to tag along? See a _real vampire_? You know this purely an at-your-own-risk thing, right?  _ Almost Halloween  _ and I take zero responsibility for unwanted loss of life and limb, etc?”

“We know,” said Ryan firmly, and Victoria shrugged again, then opened a hatch on the bartop and indicated they should come through. Several customers objected loudly, but Victoria ignored them. Someone threw a plastic cup at them, which bounced off Joe’s head and fell on the floor. They quickly followed Victoria around to the staff door, which she opened. The back rooms were a jarring contrast to the club, walls were painted a neutral cream, but peeling. A large whiteboard laid out shifts for staff members, covered with smears and annotations. A sink was piled with cups and glasses, and a white electric kettle rested on the sideboard. A sign reading ‘WASH YOUR OWN MUG!! THIS MEANS YOU ALEX’, was pinned above the sink. Only the ashtray and handful of beer bottles distinguished the place from a teachers’ or office block staffroom. 

“You pay now,” Victoria said. “Cash only.”

They all looked at each other, then scrambled  about for their pockets and wallets. Patrick still felt sick to his stomach, but it was too late to stop now. Between the five of them they scraped up the fifty dollars. Victoria pocketed it, then paused:

“Are the rest of you all, uh, _watching_?”

“Yes,” said Patrick quickly. He wanted Pete to have as much backup as possible, and Ryan and Spencer had proved surprisingly competent so far. Victoria wrinkled her nose like he’d said something distasteful, but she shrugged, then pushed open one of the inner doors. A skinny kid with a head of blond curls was playing video games on the couch. He looked to be fifteen or sixteen years old, but when he glanced up, Patrick suddenly had the impression of him being older.

“Sisky,” VIctoria said. “Got one for The Boss.” Her expression capitalized the title. Ryan, Spencer and Joe looked up sharply and Ryan’s mouth opened. Patrick recalled that, according to Joe, Brent had said something about The Boss. Spencer stepped on Ryan’s foot and his mouth closed. Sisky looked them all up and down.

“Just one?” he said, and his voice was like any other teenager, but then he got up, and the way he moved was so silky and fluid and yet  _ fast  _ that Patrick had no doubt he was a vampire. 

“The others want to watch ” Victoria said.

“Ew,” said Sisky. “So, which one of you?”

“Me,” said Pete.

“Great,” Sisky looked him up and down. “The Boss will _definitely_ like you. You're just his type."

“But not alone,” Patrick said quickly. “We’re coming too. That’s the deal.”

Sisky stared at them.

“Well,” he said finally. “I guess that’s up to The Boss,” and stepped over his video game controllers. “So are you coming?”

He led them outside, then shot off a text on his cellphone. Patrick felt sort of stupid just hanging around, but it wasn’t long before a sleek black car pulled up. The windows were tinted, and it moved almost silently down the street.

“Why do I feel like I’m in a bad remake of the Godfather?” Spencer muttered. Patrick glared at him. Sisky went around the front of the car, opened the front passenger door and got in, gesturing for the five of them to get in the back.

“It will be fine, you don’t have to come,” Pete said. “I’m sure I can figure it out.”

“What is actually wrong with you?” asked Patrick. “Like does it have a name, or do you think they’ll call it Pete Wentz Syndrome?”

The front window rolled down and the driver leaned out. He was dark blonde, but most of his face was concealed by douchey shades.

“Which one of you is coming with us?” he asked.

“We all are,” said Patrick.

“I don’t think so,” said the guy, at the same time as Pete said,

“Me. Joe, take the kids back.”

“Alright, get in the car,” said the guy, and gestured.

“No!” Patrick could rapidly feel the situation slipping out of hand.

“You interested too?” douchey shades guy looked at him over his douchey shades.

“Yes. No. Yes.” Patrick winced.

“Well, then I am too,” Joe said bravely.

“So are we!” said the kids.

Douchey shades guy rolled up the window. For a second Patrick thought he’d just drive off. But he seemed to be consulting with his buddy because a few seconds later he rolled it down again, grinning lazily.

“Alright, get in the back, all of you. My name is Michael Chislett. You can call me Mike, Chislett, or Chis,” Chislett lowered his sunglasses and looked them all over. He was fairish, with cool eyes, which he let flash an unnatural white at them. They followed Chislett’s instructions, and the doors locked automatically once they were inside. In the back were two vamps: one was tall, thin and dark haired, lounging on the bench seat. The other had a head full of curls, and he smiled and helped hold the door for them.. He was dark blond too, and looked somehow much less threatening than Chislett. He had a lot of tattoos - from before, Patrick guessed. They must be. Tattoos were a kind of scar, after all, and vampires didn’t scar as easily or predictably as humans did. ‘Unless they've got like, their own tattoo parlors and vampire artists and shit now’. If music hadn’t been Patrick’s primary talent -   okay, his  _ only  _ talent, and also if he had no conscience - there could be lucrative opportunities popping up left, right and center nowadays.

They rapidly left the inner city and made for the suburbs. It was hard for Patrick to keep track of landmarks, what with his poor vision and dark-tinted windows and the strange way other  cars seemed almost to  _ move  _ out of their path without them so much as beeping. Ryan and Spencer perched awkwardly on the edge of their seats, looking like they couldn’t believe what they’d gotten into. Patrick could sympathize. Neither of the vampires had said a word, just sat and watched them creepily, sometimes raising their eyebrows at each other or giving little smiles. Could they have some kind of telepathy? Patrick couldn’t help but be intrigued despite the danger. He watched closely, wishing for a notepad. By his reckoning, about fifteen minutes passed before they parked. The door slid open and the vampires got out, then stood with Chislett and Sisky on the sidewalk, not visibly armed. The house in front of them was bigger than Pete’s, sprawling arms and a green lawn around it, set well back from the street and it's neighbors as though to emphasize it's importance.

“Not ideal,” Chislett said. “The Boss likes to do things in high style, but you know how it is. Once we take over Chicago he’ll have plenty to choose from.”

“Looks grand enough to me,” Pete said. Perhaps he’d reached his physical limit for not talking whilst awake. Chislett glowered at him, but the other vamps seemed mildly amused. The lanky brown haired vampire finally spoke:

“Right then boys, you’ll understand that at this point there’s a bit of a strip-search.”

“What?” said Joe.

“Nothing kinky,” the vampire winked. “We save that sort of thing for initiates.”

“Ryland,” Chislett reprimanded, then before Patrick could move, a pair of hard hands grabbed him around his middle and started to remove his sweatshirt.

“No!” instinctively Patrick fought it - but for all his teenage looks, Sisky had the brute strength of a mature vampire, and his hands were cold.

“Layers off,” said the one called Ryland calmly. Patrick took a moment to be perversely glad they weren't actually carrying stakes under their shirt (he had actually tried, but there was simply no way to disguise any well enough for a club). His pocketknife was discovered and tossed onto the grass, but his wallet, once checked, was returned to him. Patrick may have set a new land speed record for partial re-dressing. He tried to see what the others were getting confiscated, but it was dark. In any case, none of it was incriminating enough to get them immediately killed. Then the five of them were shepherded up the path in a little bundle, vampires at every side. Ryland took a step up and leaned on the doorbell. An old-fashioned ring jangled through the house, and a second passed.

Then Brendon Urie opened the door for them.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. I haven't been myself lately. Now I'm back. See if you LOL at the hidden joke in this chapter.

Spencer and Ryan  muffled gasps behind Patrick. Brendon was dressed in white trousers, a shirt with ruffles on the sleeves, and some kind of fancy waistcoat. On his feet were polished spats. He still had that same fixed expression he’d had on the television. His pupils were dilated as though he was slightly high. When he saw his friends, he said peaceably,

“Oh...hello Ryan and Spencer. How nice of you to come.”

Ryan let out a tiny sound before visibly stifling himself..

“Oh, Brendon, do you know these children?” Ryland asked with an edge in his voice. “How nice. It's a reunion. Is the boss here yet?”

Brendon nodded. “The Master is waiting,” he said in the same tone.

“Well we can’t have that, can we? Take them through.”

Brendon nodded, puppet-like, then turned and walked away down the hall. The vampires closed in behind the humans and followed them inside. Brendon led them up a staircase and along a corridor, finally up to a set of elaborate doors inlaid with wooden flowers. The doors opened inwards before he touched them. Holding court in the middle of the hall was William Beckett. He was lying back on a chaise longue surrounded by other vampires, all dressed in the same Victorian fashion. They were sprawled on chairs and couches, all set around a glass coffee table strewn with glasses of - well, blood.  It was human blood. Naturally. Patrick swallowed and looked away. Another young man and a woman stood at attention behind the couches, each holding a goblet and tray. As the doors opened, Beckett stood up - an astonishingly fast, fluid movement, as though in a blink he’d just _changed_ from lying to standing - and started to walk towards them. Patrick couldn’t help staring.

In person, Beckett wasn’t so much young-looking as ageless: his skin was very pale, almost translucent, and he moved with an inhuman grace. His eyes were hard and seemed to flash as he looked over them. His gaze lingered  on Patrick - Patrick shuddered. He felt like trapped prey, like a mouse before a cat, but then Beckett shifted his gaze to Pete. Beckett smiled, showing long white fangs. Patrick was suddenly, painfully aware of how much of a plan they _didn’t have_ : Brendon clearly wasn’t going to just jump in the car with them, and they hadn’t exactly been expecting to meet Beckett himself tonight. Luckily, Patrick had managed to conceal a single silver blade during the strip search - the base of his right sneaker had a secret compartment which couldn’t be seen from the outside. He could only hope some of the others had managed a similar trick - Patrick wasn’t exactly cut out for the lone action hero business.

“Well,” said Beckett, zooming in on Pete and cupping his face in his hand. “How pretty. What _lovely_ bone structure he has.” His finger tightened enough to leave pale indents and Pete made a small sound. “He’s rather short, but height isn’t everything. You’ll make an excellent vampire.” Patrick could see Pete had tensed up, but his expression was blank. “You too,” Beckett moved on to Ryan: he clearly had an eye for the skinny pretty boys. Ryan glowered into his smile, and Beckett ran one hand down his cheek provocatively. Beckett moved on to Spencer: “Hmmm...not the usual type,” he mused. “Beautiful eyes though. I can work from this.” Spencer let out a tiny squeak. Beckett laughed: “Nervous, dear? Don’t be. You’ve made an excellent choice. It only hurts for a moment.  And then…” He smiled again, showing his fangs to their full effect: “Think of this as the ultimate in self-improvement.”

“So let’s get on with it,” Pete said boldly.

“Eager,” Beckett said. “Very well, who wants to go first? There’s a chamber down the hall we can use for privacy.”

“We don’t want privacy,” said Joe. “We want to do it together.”

“Oh really,” Beckett said, with amusement in his voice. “How peculiar. It's a very - _intimate_ process you understand.”

“Well, we’re uh, really close friends.” Pete put his arm and Joe and pressed into him ostentatiously. Joe leaned their heads together and made a face that he probably thought looked innocent. “Like, _really_ close.”

“I see,” Beckett smirked. “As you like then. Brendon, dear, show our fledglings-to-be to the piano room, would you? I need to….gather a few things, then I’ll be with you.”

The vampires looking on shared smirks between them. Patrick wanted to stake them. He thought about how Laura had said, “Sure, so I’ll see you,” as they swapped numbers, and smiled all brightly like meeting up with Patrick was something to look forward to. He thought about the way she must have died. Brendon smiled that horrible vague smile and gestured for them to follow. Chislett, Siska and a couple of the other vampires came too, presumably to restrain - or kill them - if they tried anything funny.

The piano room was an  open chamber on the first floor, a grand piano dominating the space. To Patrick’s surprise, there were a few other instruments scattered around, and some sheet music and stands. He’d thought all vampires did was hunt, sleep and laze around laughing at human inferiority. The whole room was lit by electric lights set in braziers. Thick dark blinds were drawn to block out any hint of daylight. But - it was night, Patrick thought, then his heart leapt as he realized something. What time was it? It was early July. They’d still been at the club after two, and by now it was after 3am. The sun rose before six. Suddenly Patrick had one priority: stall.

“Wait!” he blurted. Everyone in the group looked at him.

“We - uh -” his brain raced. “We need more time.”

“You what?” Chislettt said.

“Just a last - uh, just a last couple of hours as humans, just to-”

“Gather our memories,” Pete offered. Patrick breathed out. Pete may or may not have twigged what Patrick was going for, but he trusted Patrick enough to just back him.

Chislett smirked. “You won’t need those. Once you’re turned, you realize….all that stuff, it's meaningless. You’re above it.”

“Yeah but, we’re human now, right?” Joe chipped in.

Chislett narrowed his eyes. “And you’re committed to the process.”

“Absolutely,” Patrick said. “It's just - we’re sentimental. We just wanna talk amongst ourselves and look at our phone photos.for a while. We just need like two, three hours. Like a last - supper.” Oh God. Why did he say that? The vampires sniggered with laughter. Brendon didn’t even blink.

“I guess that’s up to the boss. You realize you’ll be guarded the whole time?” said Chislett. “You walked into this house of your own accord. The only way you’ll be leaving is as vampires...or as leftovers.”

“Fine,” Patrick said quickly. “We’ll be guarded.”

Chislett shrugged and closed his eyes, and a strange expression flickered across his face. It looked like - surely not!? - was he _communing_ with Beckett somehow, conveying their request? Patrick shuddered, but mixed in with the fear was a strange curiosity. They were monsters, he reminded himself. They had murdered his friend. But the psychic communion, Patrick had to admit - it was pretty amazing. Chislett opened his eyes:

“You can sit in the holding cell, if you must,” he said flatly. “No windows, no doors. It's a damn weird thing to volunteer for, but the boss seems to like you.” He glared at them. “You’re lucky.”

Hope surged inside Patrick. They had a chance. The others all looked confused, but they followed Patrick’s lead, and soon found themselves in a cold marble cell, just big enough for the four of them, while vampire guards waited outside to stop any chance of escape.”

“Uh, what are we doing?” Ryan asked, sat on the marble ledge.

“Daylight!” Patrick said. “It’s our only weapon! This house has windows - they’re locked shut, okay, but we can unlock them! All we have to do is stall for a couple of hours, and then when they try to turn us, yank the windows open!”

Pete beamed. “Trick, you’re a genius!” He hugged him. “You just saved all our asses!”

“Well, let’s see if we can pull it off first,” Patrick said.

“Also….” said Joe, “Not our only weapon. I slipped this past the guards,” and revealed an extremely thin silver blade from a hidden pocket. “Dipped in holy water. It won’t kill a vamp unless the vampire stood still and took it, but it’ll slow them down.”

“Me too,” Patrick said, and revealed his weapon. Spencer had managed the same but the others had all been thoroughly stripped.

“But the sunlight,” Ryan said. “Will it hurt Brendon?”

“Brendon’s not a vamp. He’s enthralled.” Pete had clearly been doing his research. “Like a slave, bound to them. We can break the spell, but we have to get him out of this house.”

“So the plan is, we sit on our asses for two hours pretending to reminisce. We get taken to the creepy chamber. When they start the ceremony thing, everyone makes a break for the nearest window and yanks it up. Vamps turn into smoke or something?”

“Or something,” Patrick agreed. “And everyone with a weapon tries to use it.”

“You’re amazing,” Pete told him, arms squeezing his soft waist. Patrick shifted uncomfortably:

“Thanks Pete,” he said, and tried to get out of the hug. He couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit proud of himself. Out of this insane situation, he’d come up with a plan. Sort of. At least a course of action that slightly increased their chance of success on this unforeseen, surprise mission. They could all be vampire chow in the next few hours, he understood. But damn it - they’d go down swinging.


	9. Chapter 9

Joe had to hand it to Patrick. He’d known the kid was a smart one the moment he’d overheard him in Borders, but to put together a sort of plan out of the night’s insanity was damn impressive. Granted, it wasn’t a good plan - but it was better than anyone else was offering! Pete was apparently equally impressed, and was choosing to express that by hugging Patrick and trying to kiss his face. Patrick looked deeply uncomfortable, but tolerated Pete’s physical affection. Joe was pretty sure that if most people tried to kiss Patrick, they’d get punched in the face.

There was no real way to tell when the sun would rise. Their phones were offline, so they couldn’t Google, and -

“Well I’m sorry I didn’t memorize all the weather patterns for the greater Chicago area,” Patrick snapped. “I didn’t exactly foresee this morning’s activities.”

“I know, I know that dude,” Joe held his hands up. “I was just saying.”

“It’ll be before six,” Pete said with confidence.

“How do you know?” said Spencer.

“Well,” Pete sounded mildly embarrassed. “You know, I’m often…sometimes I have to get up early.” Joe knew he meant ‘sometimes I haven’t been to sleep’, but clearly Pete didn’t want to bring that up in front of the children.

“Wait,” Spencer shook his head. “I don’t get it. I’ve seen vamps in daylight before. Like at a news conference.”

“That’s a spell,” Joe was glad he could finally contribute something from the research he’d done. “It allows very strong vampires to come out in daylight for a little bit, though they still get the equivalent of, like sunburn. They like to do it for the human press, to show they’re all powerful and shit. But it’s kind of taxing for them, and it takes a few days to prepare, so they won’t have done it now.”

“We hope,” said Spencer.

“It’s five twenty-two,” said Ryan, holding up his phone. “Not much longer to-”

The great doors swung inwards.

“That’s enough,” said Chislett flatly. Ryland and another vampire lounged casually behind him. Everything they did was so smooth, movements almost mocking. “The boss is ready. You come now.”

They shared scared looks, but followed the vampires out in a little line, and approached the piano chamber. Joe had no idea how close it was to dawn - the house was completely shut off from natural light. There was literally nothing more they could do though: they’d just have to wing it and hope for the best at this point. (Joe could practically hear his mom asking him if that usually worked out).

“You,” Chislett grabbed Pete’s arm as he passed. “He wants you first.”

“Ow, alright man, ease off with the steel clamp maybe?”

Chislett sneered and bared teeth but did loosen his grip. Then he let go with a little push that made Pete stumble forwards, whether deliberately or due to the sheer discrepancy between human and vampire strength. The vampires shared derisive looks, but didn’t object to rest of the humans passing the double door. Joe blinked. In the time they’d stalled, the piano chamber had pretty much been transformed, furniture covered with sheets, the cold fireplace dressed up as something that looked disturbingly like an altar, and a whole bunch of tall white candles in metal pans which reminded Joe before he could squash the association of the one time he’d been inside a church. He glanced up guiltily, wondering if blasphemous thoughts counted when it wasn’t your religion. Beckett watched them shuffle in, elbow propped on the fireplace. Brendon was standing a little behind him, looking blank as ever.

“All ready?” Beckett said brightly, casting a hard gaze over them. “No...last minute changes of heart I hope?”

“No,” said Pete. “All ready.” He glanced backwards, once and Joe got his most trustworthy and reassuring expression only to realize Pete was looking at Patrick, which, okay, this was totally not the time to get oversensitive (but really though). Beckett gestured for Pete to come forwards. Joe twitched automatically but didn’t take a step, focusing on the cold of the steel blade against his forearm. He didn’t know the name of the vampire closest to him, but he looked like they all looked, tall and elegant in the Dandy getup. Joe glanced sideways to get a sense of the nearest window in relation to him, imagined himself making the jump to grab the blinds. They were secured by a wooden clasp - he visualized himself swinging it upwards and shoving the stiff blinds apart. Pete stood in front of Beckett. Beckett poured some blood into a ceremonial cup and placed the cup on the mantelpiece. Joe tried desperately to tell if any light could be discerned through the blinds, but it was impossible. Beckett smiled and cupped Pete’s face in one long-fingered hand. Pete went rigid. Beckett made as though to lean in, all the vampires watching, mesmerized, and Joe watched the vampire at his side carefully. Its eyes were fixed ahead.

“Now!” Patrick shouted, and Joe let the blade slide down his wrist, grabbed it with his right hand, turned and attempted to drive it into the vampire’s chest. The vamp moved, jerking to the side, and Joe pierced its shoulder. It screamed, hissed and its flesh sizzled where the silver made contact. It doubled over and tried to yank the blade out of its skin. In the same moment, Joe flung himself at the window. He undid the clasp, yanked the blinds open, then spun around and ducked, instinctively as Chislett attempted to jump him. Joe was distantly aware of screams and motion around him, though he couldn’t tell what has happening. Joe’s back was to the wall. Chislett was on top of him. Joe tried to duck, but the vampire was too fast, and grabbed his wrist with one impossibly strong hand. Joe froze and Chislett bared his teeth, moved in to bite -

\- then screamed and crumpled as the dawn light from the opposite window fell on hm. Everything that happened next was sort of a blur. He was aware of William shouting orders, Ryan yanking Brendon’s arm and yelling,

“Now, we have to go!”

Patrick was busy stabbing a vampire with his own blade, but they were all in bad shape, writhing or semiconscious on the ground. All except Beckett, who was still standing, just about, though the light was clearly hurting him. And he was still holding Pete. Bravely, Patrick ran forward in an attempt to help him. Beckett snarled and flung him away with a backhanded slap - he was still strong enough that Patrick was sent flying, and landed hard on the wooden floor. Joe ran to him and grabbed his arm as he struggled up. Joe was still holding his blade, so he did the only thing he could think of and threw it at Beckett, but Beckett was moving, bending his head and neck -

And Pete screamed. Joe would never in his life forget that scream, unlike any human scream he’d heard before. Pete screamed because Beckett had forced his head back and pierced his throat with his fangs.

“No!” screamed Patrick, almost as terribly as Pete, and he flung his own blade at Beckett. Patrick had never been the best shot, but either sheer luck or the adrenaline of desperation must have been on his side. His blade hit Beckett in the side, somewhere under the ribcage, and Beckett gasped and crumpled. In a split second, Patrick ran forward and grabbed Pete, who had slumped to the ground the second Beckett stopped holding him up.

“Help me carry him!” he yelled to Spencer, who was nearest.

“Are you crazy?” Spencer screamed at him. “He’s a vampire!”

“We don’t know that, Beckett didn’t finish, help me get in him the car!”

“Guys we have to go!” Joe pleaded. The vampires on the ground were twitching - clearly dawn light wasn’t enough to kill them - and Beckett was grunting, moving forward, about to grab Patrick’s ankle. Ryan was still struggling with Brendon, so Joe rushed to help him, but Brendon was like stone - he wouldn’t move, and when Ryan attempted to grab his legs and go for a fireman’s carry, Brendon kicked him hard in the face. Ryan yelped and covered his nose. Joe grabbed Brendon’s arm, but the enthrallment had given Brendon unnatural strength - not as much as a vampire’s, not by half, but enough that he could yank Joe’s hand off with his other hand, bending his fingers backwards. Then he pushed him, hard enough that he fell over Ryan who was still crouched on the floor.

“We have to go,” Joe said to Ryan as he stood up. Ryan was crying, and his nose was bleeding. Joe grabbed his arm with his good hand. The other hand felt like his fingers were broken. There was no time to argue - they all ran for the door on the fireplace side of the room, Spencer and Patrick carrying Pete. Ryan was crying harder.

“I couldn’t do it!” he sobbed. “He wouldn’t come, I - he was like a stone statue, I-”

“I know,” said Joe. They kept running. Pete was totally unconscious. He looked the same - or, the same as the few times Joe had seen him asleep - except for the blood from his throat. There was a lot of blood. The second they got to the car, Patrick pulled his own shirt off and tried to stem the blood. It wasn’t enough -

“Give me your shirt,” he snapped at Ryan. Joe got into the driver’s seat without a word. As he started the car, the main door of the house opened.

“Why are you taking him?” Ryan cried. “He’ll turn now! We went to save Brendon and instead of helping, you’re bringing a fucking vampire!”

“Well I didn’t count on my best friend getting bitten,” Patrick shouted. “Now give me your shirt!”

Probably eager to stop the fight, Spencer pulled off his own shirt and gave it to Patrick. Joe peeled out of the driveway.

“I couldn’t do it,” Ryan moaned again, leaning his head against the window.

Joe couldn’t think of anything to say to that. So he just drove.

 

*

“Hmm,” said Hurley, when Joe’s story was finished.

“Hmm?” said Joe. “Is that it?”

The traffic was moving.

“What would you like me to say?”

“I don’t know, maybe like, condolences or something? Or some comment on the fact we all escaped from the vampire overlord’s house? Left here, then straight over the traffic circle.”

“He’s not the vampire overlord. He’s the leader of the Midwest Dandies. He’s powerful, I’ll give you that.”

“This is our street,” Joe said, and his heart leaped to his throat. If Hurley couldn’t or wouldn’t help, they were fresh out of ideas. Just a bunch of dumb kids keeping a vampire in the basement. When had his life become this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed that. Please leave a comment and let me know what you think? Thanks, I appreciate it.


	10. Chapter 10

Patrick was sitting on his living room couch, an old book open on his knees. His laptop was alseep at his side. He couldn’t think or read for more than a few minutes. Their phones only worked occasionally since the vamps took over - God knew what they’d done or how far their reach went. It would be dark soon, and Pete would wake.

They’d come back to Patrick’s house after - what happened -  because his mom was away at a professional development course at the hospital where she worked. Also because of the fact that the place had a basement. He remembered how awkward he’d felt about having the guys here - the house was so small compared to their places, the furniture was old and didn't match. Though he'd never change her, his mom wasn’t really the type to bake cookies and admire their band practices - more to tell them to keep it down because the walls where thin. Those concerns seemed a million miles away. So ridiculous Now that Joe had been gone too long. Pretty soon, Patrick would have to endure the sounds again - the same sounds Pete had made last night, when he woke up and discovered his restraints. On that first night, Patrick wanted to go down to the basement, exclaimed they they couldn’t leave him like this -

“We can’t,” Joe had said, looking dismayed. “We can’t, Patrick.” He was biting his own lip so hard he was drawing blood - Joe and Pete had been friends for a long time, and Patrick was overwhelmed with feelings he didn’t know what to do with. 

“Just to look,” Patrick begged. He was thinking about the iron handcuffs they’d used to secure him to the bunkbeds in the basement. The bunks were made of metal and really hard to move from the floor, but who knew how strong vampires really were? “We won’t touch him. He’s restrained, he can’t get to us, we just have to check if Pete’s-”

_ “That’s not Pete anymore, Patrick!”  _ Joe had said. Patrick’s eyes pricked with tears. 

“Just to look,” he insisted. Joe shrugged, looking helpless: 

“Okay. You two - stay there.” He pointed to Ryan and Spencer, who were practically clinging together in a corner. They nodded, looking petrified.

They’d done a pretty good job of restraining Pete while it was still light. He couldn’t really scream with the gag in his mouth - an old pair of Patrick’s jeans. Getting near his teeth had been scary, but he’d been really unconscious - Patrick thought he was dead, for a few minutes, possibly the longest few minutes of his young life. He’d been so cold. The dawn light was already burning him as they’d gotten him to the car, skin blistering into awful welts on his face and hands. Pete hadn’t even stirred. He was awake now though - wide awake. He’d stopped trying to scream and was panting heavily. His wrists were badly burned where his skin touched the iron cuffs, but he seemed oblivious to the pain. He jerked his head in their direction the split-second they entered and started trying to spit the gag out.

“Pete,” said Patrick, and Pete looked right at him. His eyes were hard and dark. He looked like he wanted to kill Patrick.

“Rick,” said Joe nervously.

“Pete,” said Patrick again, and stepped forwards. His flight instinct was going crazy, the primitive compulsion to run from a predator screaming _'move move move, are you crazy?'_ _ Are you nuts?’  _  Maybe he was crazy. Maybe he’d lost it. Patrick’s mom always said that his stubborness would be his downfall someday. He’d barely had time to register that thought as Pete kicked him hard in the shin - his new strength was more than enough to make Patrick’s knees buckle as the stone floor rose up to meet him. It was the excruciating sensation of banging your shin on a corner table magnified by a thousand - Patrick put his hands out to break his fall, but Pete was on top of him, bringing the whole bunk frames clattering down around them in a splintering cage. Patrick heard screaming and realized it was him. He was going to die. Pete’s eyes met his, calm and dark and entirely alien. ‘Please’, Patrick thought. They’d always talked about the psychic connection, half a joke, half in earnest, and Patrick thought ‘if it was ever true, if there was ever anything in it…’

For a fraction of a second, Pete paused.

Then he screamed and let go, because Joe had used his silver knife to stab him in the thigh. Patrick kicked Pete as hard as he could in the chest, which didn’t move the vampire an inch but propelled Patrick bakwards into Joe’s arms. Joe grabbed Patrick from behind and pulled him to his feet. Pete was still handcuffed to the collapsed bedframe, but he was rapidly figuring out that he could drag the beams and move them now they were free of their structure. He was bleeding heavily where Joe had stabbed him, skin charred and smoking horribly where the silver had made contact.

“Go!” Joe yelled and pushed Patrick towards the basement exit. It felt so wrong, so against his protective, possesive feelings when it came to Pete, but whatever lucidity Patrick had thought he’d seen, it was gone now. Pete was an animal. Patrick and Joe sprinted for the door, slamming it behind them, but a split second later Pete threw himself against it and the metal groaned.

“Shit!” said Joe. Patrick slid all the bolts into place as fast as possible, fumbling the iron padlocks that held the whole thing together. Ryan and Spencer came scurrying into the halllway, looking petrified.

“He’s in there,” Patrick said. His own firmness surprised him.

“Rick -” Joe looked pained.

“No,” said Patrick. “He hesitated. There was a moment he could have bitten me and he didn’t do it.” Patrick shook his head. “He’s in there Joe. I saw it.”

Joe stared at him for a long moment. “Alright,” he said at last. “We’ll - where’s your laptop?”

 

*

That was how they found the Priest, the guy responsible for the main non-goverment websites on vampires in the Greater Chicago area. He seemed to have been studying the vampires’ movements for many years, and claimed to infilrtated and lived with a young gang for several weeks in the nineties. His site contained a long list of affiliates, under categories on everything from history of the European vampire tribes to contemporary silversmiths. By selective Google searching, they’d found what appeared to be the internet’s only reference to ‘cures’.But instead of a site address or even a phone number, all the header provided was a set of initials -  _ A.J.H. _ \- and text  ‘information on request’. 

Getting The Priest to talk to them had been easy. It seemed he lived for this stuff, and agreed by text message to Skype them almost immediately. The man who appeared on the feed was of indeterminate age, sat at an oak desk with a large crucifix and an overstuffed bookcase behind him. commended them for their interest in hunting and when they told him about Pete getting turned, he wasn’t surprised.

“I said it was brave of you, not clever,” he clarified. He wore a dark cloak and a hat that concealed most of his face, more like a detective out of a noir film than a holy man. But His dog collar could be glimpsed when he moved, and in any case, they weren’t particularly concerned with his ecclesiastical certifications. “So you took care of it?”

The four of them all looked at each other.

“Or….?” the priest prompted.

Patrick tried to explain his conviction that Pete was still in there, the priest unreadable over the Skype feed, and fumbled his words until he got to, “Yours was the only site that referred to - to a cure. You gave a reference for something, or someone. Is it real?”

“Someone,” the priest clarified, “And they’re real. As to the possibility of a cure - I don’t think it's likely, myself. Theologically very difficult, as well as practically. But theological difficulties are my specialty. The practicalities I leave to him.”

That was how Joe had gotten the address - had it really been mere days ago? They’d all heard of Hurley - in Joe’s mind, he’d be an ageing military veteran or a wizened Yoda type with surprising physical prowess, both of which were dead wrong.

“Park here, park anywhere here,” he said quickly now.

“Which house?” Hurley asked.

“That one, with the blue door, with the…oh, shit,” Joe’s heart seemed to drop to his stomach. After all this. It could be worse, he told himself, they’d overcome so much already. It was hard to say why this new complication seemed so oddly - final. “With the blue Honda parked outside,” he said wearily to Hurley. “Because Patrick’s mom is home.”


	11. Chapter 11

Patrick’s parents got a divorce when he was five. It was friendly - as friendly as these things ever are - and he’d spend most of his weekends at his dad’s house while his mom had primary custody. Now that Patrick was in high school, she was putting in more night hours, taking on more shifts at the hospital and attending courses in the hope of improving her career prospects. They’d always gotten on pretty well - Patrick didn’t tell her that much, but he didn’t tell anyone that much, and she was good about not prying into his personal life. One big thing they had in common, Patrick thought, and probably the main reason they got along well, is they were both pretty low-key, tried to avoid drama and preferred a quiet life. 

The first time Patrick’s mom had met Pete Wentz, he’d been sitting on her couch telling a truly disgusting story about his first college roommate, but somehow managed to cut himself off before saying anything explicit in front of her. He’d stood up and given her the megawatt smile, introducing himself with a handshake and saying how pleased he was to meet her. Joe and Patrick mimed vomiting behind her back, making sure Pete could see, but it was too late. Patricia was a full fledged member of the Pete Wentz Parental Fan Club. 

“What a _nice_ boy,” she’d said later: “So polite. It's so refreshing to meet a young person who knows how to talk to their elders. You should bring him over more often Patrick. You might learn something from him.”

Patrick guessed this wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind.

When she’d finished screaming (hearing his mother scream went directly to Patrick’s list of Least Favourite Things in the World) Patricia called the police. They hadn’t gotten as far as who said they would be there as soon as they could, but there were several major incidents in the city tonight and a single contained vampire was not a level one priority.

“Not a priority?” Patricia screamed at the cop on the phone.

“Not a Level One priority ma’am,” the cop corrected. “As I said, we’ll have a unit to your house immediately one becomes available.”

 

“THERE IS A LIVING VAMPIRE IN MY BASEMENT RIGHT NOW! MY SON HAS BEEN ATTACKED!”

“Mom,” Patrick said.

“Don’t you ‘Mom’ me young man. You are in so much trouble. How could you - what were you thinking, and - how could you - I don’t even want to know how you managed this.” She shook her head, hand cupped over the receiver end of the telephone. 

“Mom,” Patrick said. “He’s my friend.”

Patricia’s face softened, anger vanished in the face of his real distress. “Oh honey” she said. “I know it feels like that. He was a lovely boy and-”  
“He’s NOT DEAD!” Patrick yelled in response, though part of him was wondering if he had lost it, if he was just projecting Pete onto a monster that had stolen his body. He turned away and walked out of the room, not wanting anyone to see the tears that were pricking the corners of his eyes. The house wasn’t really big enough for a proper hallway, so Patrick opened the front door and stepped outside minute, breathing deeply. He was surprused to find it was broad daylight - he’d completely lost track of time. 

A small truck with a 2--seater cab turned and rumbled into the road. Patrick was about to turn away, when it caught his eye - in the bed of the truck a familiar shape was secured against the boards. A bike. Patrick’s pulse picked up. That was Joe’s bike! Patrick wiped his glasses on his sleeve and squinted up at the cab, but he could only make shapes out. He jumped up and down and waved his arms a bit - apparently his subconscious has decided that if Joe had been turned too, Patrick let the vamps have him. 

The truck pulled up across the street and parked. Both cab doors opened at the same time. Joe and a college-looking guy with long hair and glasses jumped down and jogged over to him.

“This is Andy Hurley,” Joe said.

“What?” said Patrick.

“Hey,” said the college looking guy. “I see you’ve run into a few problems here…”

“Just a few,” Patrick admitted. “I think we have about twenty minutes before the cops show up, so..” he shrugged, feeling helpless.

“You said the vampire is contained?” said Andy Hurley.

“He’s in the basement still,” Patrick said. “If we survive this, by the way, my mom’s gonna kill us all.”

“Understandable,” Joe said.

“I think twenty minutes might be an overstatement,” Hurley calmly reached into his backpack and produced an extremely professional-looking ID card supposedly from the Chicago PD.

“You’re a cop?” Patrick asked dumbly.

“No,” said Hurley.

“Okay,” said Patrick. This night kept getting weirder and weirder. He dawdled outside for a few moments, trying to process, and when he got back inside, Hurley was   
telling his mom how he was

“ - a specialist, my usual partner got held up at the last call. Don’t worry about it Ma’am, I assure you I’m fully able to handle it. You, uh, might want to step into the   
kitchen.” He looked pointedly at Ryan and Spencer, who were doing a sufficient job of looking like the terrified minors they were that Patrick’s mom took the lead in   
ushering them both out of the room not without a few more comments on how absurd it was that the department didn’t send a whole team and a snapped,

“In here, Patrick.”

All four of them crowded into the tiny kitchen and waited. Patricia absently. There was no way to see what was happening in the basement or hallway.

Minutes passed.

“By the way, Mrs. Stump, you have a lovely home,” said Spencer.

“Thank you dear,” said Patricia distractedly. “Who are you exactly?”

Joe took the liberty of introducing the kids, and by the time he was done, there was a series of thumps and thuds from the corridor and the they heard Andy’s voice,   
muffled but commanding. Patrick didn’t understand what he was saying, but to his surprise, Pete was quiet. The front door slammed, then there was silence. They all looked at each other, nobody quite brave enough to make the first move. Then the doorbell rang. Andy was back on the porch, as calm as anything:

“Thanks for your co-operation,” he said. “The boys will need to come down to the station to answer a few questions shortly - no-one’s under arrest,” he hastened to assure Patrick’s mom - “Just so we can figure out what went wrong here. I’ll be in touch.”

Then he got back in the truck, with no signs of disturbance, and drove off.

Patricia narrowed her eyes, frowning. “Not that I’m not grateful for the service, but did anyone get his badge number?”


	12. Chapter 12

Patrick was grounded indefinitely:

“Except to go to the police station, I guess,” said his mom, as she took off her and lanyard and hung her bag in the hall. Sadly, this meant she insisted on dropping him and Joe off at the station on her way back to work the next morning. That meant they had to go inside and pretend to have had a bike stolen while they kept one eye on the window and waited for her car to drive off. Patrick felt guilty for wasting police time, but it was all they could come up with at practically no notice. Then they ducked out to a diner across the street, and Joe showed him the text Andy had sent late last night - it was an address on the far side of town that neither of them recognised. Joe had texted back ‘directions???’, but there was no reply. Patrick was starting to get nervous:

“What if it’s a setup?” he asked. “We don’t know this guy. What if his plan is to get Pete alone and then just like - stake him.” He mimed the action for emphasis.

“Hell of a roundabout way to do it,” Joe said. “Considering we approached him and all.”

“I guess.”

Joe had stopped correcting Patrick when he used Pete’s name, Patrick had noticed. Maybe he was just tired of doing it, or maybe he was starting to be persuaded. There were several cops in sitting around in the diner, drinking coffee and looking over the newspapers. Patrick made an effort to lower his voice. The last thing they needed was to actually get arrested.

“Okay,” he said, thinking fast. “How about you go over and ask those cops for directions, like say you’re supposed to be visiting your aunt or something and your phone ran out of battery.”

“Why me?”

“You’re younger.”

“You look more like an upright young person though. Cops aren’t into my style.” Joe pointed to his hair, which he’d recently bleached platinum blond for some inexplicable reason.

“Okay,” said Patrick, and took a deep breath. He was seriously considering taking acting classes as an elective next year.

“Wait,” Joe said, reached out, and artfully adjusted Patrick’s glasses so they sat slightly lopsided on his nose. Then he gave a thumbs-up. Patrick thought it was a thumbs-up, anyway: it was hard to see. Evidently Joe knew what he was doing though, because fifteen minutes later, they were headed to the bus stop with not only rough directions scribbled on a napkin, but route numbers and an idea of the timetable. There had been a dangerous moment when a lady cop had offered to let Patrick use her cell to call his aunt, but he pretended like he didn’t know her number. He was actually getting better at this improv thing, he reflected. She’d asked a couple of times if he was 100% sure about the address, and Patrick wondered what they would find there.

“Wouldn’t it be sweet if we could get some badges like that?” Joe sighed. “Cop ID badges, I mean.”

“I don’t think anybody’s going to buy as cops, Joe,” Patrick said.

“I know...I was just saying it would be sweet if we could.”  
Patrick was wondering how much time they had. Pete going missing for a day or two wasn’t a cause for particular alarm in anyone. One of his more annoying habits was ignoring his phone, blanking his friends, family and current girlfriend(s) for sometimes days at a time, but it wouldn’t be too long before his parents called the university and realized he wasn’t there either, at which point Patrick guessed the real cops would be involved. And then…

...Well, cops didn’t exactly negotiate with vampires. 

They got off the bus near the last stop, a less densely built-up suburb with several closed shops and unused buildings. Patrick saw why the lady cop was so keen to check his directions. They led to a warehouse which looking like it hadn’t seen trade in twenty years or so. The outside was boarded up and red and black graffiti sprayed the walls. One image seemed to be a cartoon representation of a vampire in sneakers and dreadlocks being staked, with the phrase ‘hoods suck’ emblazoned above and below it. Joe and Patrick looked at each other uneasily. The last thing they wanted to do was accidentally declare allegiance in a vampire turf war. But it was full day, and they’d had neither sight nor sound of being followed by anyone. After a pause, Patrick shrugged and strode up to the door, trying to look braver than he felt. There was a small buzzer in the entrance, which he pressed, and the door opened at once. It gave way to a steep staircase and two abandoned stocking spaces on either side. Or - not entirely abandoned. Patrick squinted into the gloom, and could just make out what appeared to be painted targets - human shapes with their heads and throats circled, rows of small knives carefully sheathed and - 

“Is that a motherfucking stake crossbow?” Joe practically yelled.

“Ssssh-shh, say it louder, I don’t think they heard you in Kazakhstan!” Patrick hissed, and smacked his shoulder hard.

“Unbelievable,” Joe shook his head, something like a smile creeping onto his face for the first time since they’d met the Dandies. “That there is some next-level hunter shit.”

“Doesn’t it strike you as weird,” Patrick said nervously. “That all this stuff is just - sitting here, like, unguarded? Doesn’t it kind of feel like-”

“-Walking into a trap?”

The priest is standing at the top of the staircase. Patrick and Joe both jumped a mile and Patrick finds that he’s taken his silver knife out. It's becoming a reflex.

“It can be a trap,” the priest acknowledged, taking a few steps down the stairs. “But not for you. You can relax, boys - we have your friend safe here, and no intention of staking him. Close the door.”

Patrick and Joe both exhaled, though Patrick was somewhat creeped out by the guy’s ability to practically appear out of thin air. 

“So where’s Pete?” he asked. “And- and Hurley, I guess?”

“Busy,” said the Priest, “He should be back soon. But if you want to make yourself useful, there’s a rather extensive library in the basement. How much do you know about vampires?”

“Well,” said Joe, then paused. “Well, we’ve escaped from the Dandies.”

“Better than nothing,” said the Priest. “You fancy yourselves as hunters, am I correct?” 

They looked at each other uneasily. Patrick felt like a kid being called out on some childish game. 

“Well,” said the Priest. “Looks like you might get your wish. This place hasn’t been opened up in...more than a year, now.”

“Where’s Pete?” Patrick asked again.

“He’s quite safe,” said the Priest.

“We want to see him.”

“It - would be better to wait for Andrew to come back, on that score. Safer.”

“You’re here alone with him,” Patrick pointed out. “So you’re obviously not worried.”

The Priest raised his eyebrows. “You’re a very brave young man, Mr. Stump. Very well.”

Patrick frowned, the epithet feeling uncomfortable. He’d never been described as brave in his life. Stubborn, many times. But not brave. Not until he met Pete, he realised with a start.

“Come with me,” the priest gestured with his head for them both to climb the staircase. “One at a time,” he held out his hand when Joe made to follow. Something crossed Joe’s face and for some reason Patrick felt like he should apologise, but Joe just shrugged and said,

“Cool. I can amuse myself,” with his eyes on the weapons. Patrick nodded and followed the priest.

*

Warehouse wasn’t the word for it, really - it was, effectively, a _secret lair_ , and pretty much the coolest thing Joe ever seen. There were targets painted on the walls, a rack of throwing knives, assorted swords and guns, and some weapons Joe couldn’t even identify. The other side of the space housed a collection of old books and a desktop computer. There was even an unused kitchen and couch area that looked like actual humans had spent time there. Joe was just wondering if anybody would mind if he looked for a drink or something, when the main door was unlocked from outside and Hurley walked in. He nodded at Joe:

“So you made it.”

“Is this all...yours?” Joe gestured to the space around them. “This place I mean?”

Hurley looked at him sharply. For a minute Joe thought he’d just blow him off, but instead he said,

“I used to….spend time here. Me and - some friends. Hunters. The people I learned from, I guess you could say.”

“Yeah?”

“They’re dead,” said Hurley said. “So you don’t have to ask.”

“Oh. Uh, I’m sorry about that man.”

“Yeah well,” Hurley shrugged. “It’s done, isn’t it?”

Joe didn’t ask what was done, precisely, but he had his suspicions. There were only a handful of reasons a person would be experimenting with curing vampirism, and none of them were very pleasant. Hurley seemed to be following his chain of thought:

“You shouldn’t have taken it this far,” he said. “I mean, no offence. But unless Pete’s had a personality transplant in past five years this is absolutely not what he would have wanted.”

Joe didn’t know what to say to that.

“And that other kid -”

“Patrick-”

“Patrick - he seems pretty deluded over the situation. If I were you - if you wanted to be a good friend to him - you should tell him it's over.”

Joe winced. “Yeah okay,” he said. “Thanks for the advice, Hurley.”

“You can call me Andy.”

“Oh,” Joe said, and maybe something sank in his stomach because he realised then that Andy really wasn’t trying to be a dick, that he really believed it was a lost cause and the guy had a lot more experience than any of them put together. Maybe all they were doing was drawing out the inevitable, making Pete suffer, making themselves suffer over something that could only end one way. At that moment, there was a squeak and a grind of metal being pushed, footsteps, then Patrick and the priest reappeared from one of the inner doors. 

“You wanna go?” Patrick said to Joe. He looked just like he did before - nervous but determined.

“No,” Joe blurted. He wasn’t brave enough. He didn’t want to see Pete like that anymore. Patrick looked neither traumatised nor particularly optimistic, so Joe   
supposed Pete was the same.

“What?” Patrick glared at him.

“I just - don’t,” Joe shrugged. “Maybe another time.” Patrick continued to look hard at him and shook his head a little, but he didn’t say anything.

“So you want to hunt,” said Hurley. “Alright, pick a weapon and get on the training floor.”

“J - just like that?” Joe said.

“You want a ceremony or something? Pick a weapon.”

Joe and Patrick looked at each other, hesitant. Then Joe shrugged and went for the crossbow. It was heavy - far heavier than it looked, and he staggered a little.

“If you’re going to use that you need strength training,” Andy said and looked Joe up and down. “Quite a lot of strength training. No offense.”

“And this is where I take my leave,” the Priest said. “I’m afraid my physical combat years are over.”

Andy walked the guy to the door where they exchanged a few quiet words.

“How’s Pete?” Joe asked Patrick.

“You could see for yourself,” said Patrick archly, then he softened. “The same. I guess. Pretty much the same.”

“ - Rick…”

“I’m gonna fix this, Joe. I know you don’t think I can do it, you’re not that subtle.”

“That’s not-”

“Alright, you, pick up something lighter,” Hurley was back. “You - Patrick - what do you want to use?”

“I guess - I should have a gun. Not that I like guns. But I’m not much of a hand-to-hand guy, if you know what I mean.”

“You can’t fire a gun in the city in the middle of the day.” Hurley eyed the weapon racks, then picked out a pair of thin, long-handled blades and handed one each to 

Joe and Patrick. “Alright, I’m gonna attack you both. Stop me.”

“With these?” Joe exclaimed. “We’ll hurt you!”

“No you won’t,” said Andy with a wry smile. 

They looked at each other. “Dude, we have maybe two hours before I need to be home, or I’m never getting out of my room again in my life,” Patrick said. “We should probably do something.”

“Okay but - you accept all risk, right? If we cut you with these things it's not our fault. No liability accepted.”

“No liability,” Andy agreed. As it turned out, they didn’t need it. Andy was stronger and faster than both of them put together. Somehow, he managed to disarm them and pin Joe to the floor, keeping Patrick at arm’s length with the other blade before they knew what was happening.

“What the -?” Patrick gaped. “How did you do that? Are you human? Are you some kind of super-mutation hybrid?”

“100% human,” Andy said. “No super-mutation needed. Honestly, it's just practice. Practice, practice and more practice. Your muscles will remember even when your brain forgets. One day it’ll save your life.”

“If the practice doesn’t kill me first,” Joe groaned, sitting up and rubbing the base of his spine hard. “Can we not get like - gym mats or something?”

“No gym mats on the street, sorry,” Andy used the blade he was holding to flick the other one off the floor, and caught it by the handle. “Get up. I’ll show you why you   
lost.”

TBC


End file.
